


Temptation

by yamineko87



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 20:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamineko87/pseuds/yamineko87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first Sherlock fic to be posted here.  Sherlock is a vampire and John is not quite what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ok, we all know that these particular people don’t actually belong to me, right?

Oh and our favorite brothers are only two years apart in age in this story. And I’m stealing their dad’s name from another story. I apologize to the author (Blind Author, I believe) but it is a perfect name, and I couldn’t think of a better one.

 

***  
There was a good reason Sherlock would rather work with the dead. It wasn’t because he preferred them dead, at least not for the reasons everyone thought. They were just less tempting dead. He had been doing so very well not to slip up, not to give in to his urges. He had been resisting for four hundred years.  
Then John Watson strolls into his life.  
He would have been fine with the man if he didn’t smell so damn good. And it wasn’t John’s blood that smelled so good. It was just his natural scent. It wasn’t just the musk that was most males. There was something under it all that called to Sherlock. Something dangerous. A smell that was probably left over from the war. Sherlock had smelled war heroes before though; none of them had this particular scent. John’s was just…more somehow. More dangerous, more heady.  
Sherlock could ignore something for a very long time when he put his mind to it. Up to a point anyway. John was that point. It had gotten bad enough that Sherlock rarely stayed in the same room for more than a couple minutes unless he had to. John knew something was wrong, had in fact tried to get the dark haired man to talk about it, but of course, no luck.  
John had taken to spending most of his nights up in his room. Sherlock doing the same. When they did end up in the same room for an extended period of time they started arguing. And it wasn’t about anything in particular, just whatever happened to be on their minds at the time.  
It was one of these fights that made Sherlock realize that all his control meant nothing.  
***

“If it bothers you so much just leave!” Sherlock yelled, pacing angrily around the living room, finally tired of constant nagging at him to eat something.  
John flinched as if he had been struck, his eyes wide. “Is that what you want? For me to leave?” He asked, lowering his head to look at his feet.  
Sherlock was glad John wasn’t looking at him. If he had been he would have seen how very not human his flat-mate was. The taller man’s eyes were gold, his lips pulled back over sharp canines as a low growl issued from his throat.  
“It would probably be for the best,” he replied icily, though inside his heart was breaking. He tried to ignore the choked sound that came from John, tried to ignore the rush of shame at his callousness. Instead he stared resolutely out the window. He saw John nod quickly, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he turned to his room.  
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll pack tomorrow if you can put up with me for one more night.”  
Sherlock didn’t bother to say anything; John was already halfway up the stairs. As soon as the other man was out of sight, Sherlock collapsed in on himself, his shoulders shaking. “Sorry, John. So sorry.”  
***  
I can’t stay here… need to go out…need to think… John paced his room furiously, trying to decide where he could go to get away for a while at this time of night. It was only a little after 10pm but that was still rather late to be wandering around. He decided to take a short walk anyway.  
John pulled his shoes back on and went back downstairs, pointedly ignoring the other man still in front of the window.  
Sherlock watched John walk away from the flat, tension singing through his veins. He didn’t want him out there by himself, especially after dark. Sherlock knew very well what could go wrong, knew how many things out there went bump in the night. He was one of them. He made a quick decision to follow him. Just to make sure he was okay, of course.  
Carefully he slid the window open, easing himself through slowly. As he let himself fall to the street, he asked himself why he was doing this, why he cared enough to do this. He couldn’t think of anything.  
***  
John wandered for what felt like hours but was only about twenty minutes before he found himself lost. Even with all the running around he and Sherlock did he still had no real idea where he had ended up this time.  
There was a noise off to his left, it sounded like a trash can getting knocked over. He walked slowly over to investigate, drawing his browning as he went.  
“Hello?” He called. “Anyone there?”  
A sound behind him had him spinning around too late to stop the blow to his temple, too late to hear low hum of a car engine idling around the corner. He was too late bringing his arms up, his head connecting painfully with the concrete.  
The last thing he heard as he was being piled into the car was the impossible sound of Sherlock calling his name, voice frantic.  
“John!”

*****  
So, let me know what you think. I have more ready to be posted but I want to see how this is received first. Also I am looking for a reliable beta…. Mine took off on me….  
I also have a bit of a dilemma. Wings or no wings? Let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Umm…violence here…and death…

 

***  
“John!” Too far, dammit, I’m too far away!  
With a frustrated growl, Sherlock slowed, unable to follow the car on foot. For the moment at least. His mind immediately cast itself out, searching. Not more than a minute later he had located what he needed and was gone, vanishing like a breath on the wind.  
Need to feed. Then I can catch them.  
Fifteen minutes later found Sherlock outside a blood bank, waiting for someone to come out so he could convince them to let him in. As if he had called out loud, a security guard unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Can I help you, sir?”  
Sherlock smiled and it was not a friendly look. “I certainly hope so.”  
The guard’s eyes lost focus, lids falling half closed as he stared at Sherlock. “Please, come on in sir,” he said stepping back and holding the door open.  
“Why thank you,” Sherlock replied, sliding past him.  
Ten minutes later, Sherlock was following John’s scent across London. The buildings blurred past as he ran, flittering through cars at the intersections, neatly side-stepping anyone on the sidewalk. Anyone he passed would only feel a slight breeze he was moving so fast.  
As light began to appear on the skyline, Sherlock finally located the car that had stolen his John from him. He glanced at his surroundings quickly, instantly knowing where they were. He slowed to a stop next to the door of the warehouse John was being held at and listened.  
Past the sounds of rats and insects, Sherlock could hear the thump of flesh hitting flesh. He heard the sharp crack of a bone being broken, and from the sound it was a rib or two. He heard the muffled sound of a man in pain.  
Sherlock felt an eerie sort of calm wash over him, cooling the rage that had been running through his veins. He could still feel his anger simmering under the surface, but now he could think through it. It took him less than thirty seconds to map the route he would take to get into the building and get to John as fast as possible.  
One minute twenty-three seconds later, he was standing outside the room John was in. He slowly leaned his head in the door, left hand still pinning a guard to the wall. Oddly enough, it had been the only guard he had encountered. Almost casually, he snapped the guard’s neck, lowering him carefully to the floor. That done, Sherlock looked around the corner, checking the positions of the men holding John.  
Against the wall there was a long metal table holding various blades. In the center of the room, there was a metal stool that seemed to be bolted to the floor. It had been modified, metal loops welded to the legs. The use for the hoops was obvious, the handcuffs around John’s wrists and ankles being held in place there. A corner of Sherlock’s mind noted all visible injuries, while the rest focused on the three men standing around his flat mate.  
None of them noticed Sherlock sneaking into the room, John being the only one able to see the door. Thankfully, John seemed to be able to control his facial expressions very well, his training from the Army allowing him to notice a friendly without giving them away.  
One of the men lashed out suddenly, knife in his hand flashing as he brought it down, slicing across John’s cheek. Sherlock let out an inhuman growl, the sound raising the hairs on the humans’ arms, a chill crawling down their backs as they slowly turned toward the sound, expecting to see some kind of animal.  
The last thing John saw before darkness claimed him was the three men charging Sherlock, who seemed to be unconcerned, the pale man spreading his arms as if to welcome them.  
***  
As soon as the first man charged Sherlock, he spread his arms, a razor sharp smile spreading across his face as his eyes darkened to a deep, burnished gold. The men coming at him hesitated, nervously glancing at their comrades. When they looked back, Sherlock was gone.  
Spinning around, they found him kneeling at the prisoner’s feet, pale hands running along the metal of the cuffs. Long fingers wrapped themselves around each end of a set of cuffs, giving a quick tug that snapped the chain, the action repeated three more times. John slumped forward slowly, unable to gain enough balance to stay upright as he drifted in and out of consciousness.  
Sherlock lowered him to the floor carefully, as if afraid he would break. As soon as John’s head was safely on the floor Sherlock was moving, his features a blur to the men trying to flee the room. A snarl tore through the room as a pale hand darted forward, burying itself in the first man’s chest, blood dripping heavily as the hand retreated, the man falling to his knees, then to his back as he died. Sherlock didn’t even slow, the next man’s neck broken before he even felt the hand on it. The last man he pinned to the wall, his feet dangling a couple inches above the floor, the hand at his throat allowing him to breathe, but just barely.  
“Why did you take him?” Sherlock hissed, his mouth against the man’s neck as he fought with himself. He had gone 400 years without fresh blood, he could last another 400.  
Plain brown eyes stared at him, horror and fear the only things present in them. Sherlock growled again, this time in frustration, the sound drawing a whimper from the other man.  
“P-please! Don’t kill me! I’ll tell you anything!” The man was crying now, tears running down his face slowly.  
Sherlock dropped him, turning to take a closer look at John, who was just starting to come around again, head shaking back and forth as he tried to get his bearings. He carefully rolled onto his stomach, forcing himself to his hands and knees, head dipping as he fights off the nausea. After a moment he raised his head, his hazel eyes shining with pain and resolve. He would fight his way out of here if he had to.  
John saw Sherlock in front of him, crouching on the balls of his feet, head cocked to the side as he watched John struggle with his balance. John then saw the man in the corner behind Sherlock. He saw him rising to his feet quietly, saw the blade he picked up from the table. John saw the man’s arm draw back then snap forward. He opened his mouth to warn Sherlock, but the man was already moving, a pale blur darting around the black- clad man. John watched as Sherlock’s hands descended on shaking shoulders.  
Sherlock dipped his head to speak to the guard, the man’s face draining of all color as the taller man whispered in his ear, his spidery fingers stroking the frantic pulse in the man’s neck. Sherlock slowly turned the shaking man around to face him. A slow, almost lazy, smile drifting across Sherlock’s face. The man under his hands shuddered violently, his grip on the blade tightening. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow as if to dare him, releasing his grip on the torturers shoulders. He spread his arms wide and waited.  
John tried to stand, tried to get to the knife before it got to Sherlock, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. He watched in horror as the man shoved his arm forward. Sherlock’s body jerked as the blade slid home in between his ribs.  
Sherlock slowly lowered his arms, the smile on his face gaining a razor edge. He took a step forward, and another, forcing the blade deeper and the man holding it backward. He leaned forward and whispered in the human’s ear. “I forgot to mention one tiny little detail. Your blades won’t hurt me.”  
The man released the knife and staggered backward, tripping over the stool and falling to the ground. Sherlock stalked after him, the blade still embedded in his chest.  
John watched as Sherlock brought a hand up and carelessly jerked the knife out, the dripping blade held loosely in his hand. He watched Sherlock grab the other man and haul him to his feet, slamming him into the wall as he drove the blade into his chest. He stepped back, yanking the blade free.  
John blinked and suddenly Sherlock was kneeling next to him, hands coming up to hold John’s head in place as pale eyes assessed the damage. “John?” He asked quietly.  
“Sherlock…What just happened?”  
“Well, I’m rescuing you and when we get home I’ll tell you the rest if you still need me to,” Sherlock replied quietly as he found the key to the cuffs. Kneeling next to John again, he unlocked the cuffs and tossed them aside to examine the damage to John’s skin. “We need to get you home so I can wrap these. And your ribs.”  
John looked at him, suspicion in his eyes. “How long were you standing out there before you came in?”  
Sherlock smirked. “Not long.”  
“Then how do you know about the ribs?”  
“I heard them break as I was making my way in.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rawr…I got lost in my plot… this is mostly a filler.

 

**  
The journey back to Baker Steet took longer than Sherlock would have preferred, as he had to stop and wait for John to catch up. Sherlock had tried to hail a cab without much luck seeing as it was almost dawn.  
About two blocks from home, John finally collapsed. Sherlock had him in his arms before the shorter man’s knees were able to hit the ground and he carried him the rest of the way.  
Sherlock managed to ease the unconscious man up the stairs without too much difficulty and gently lay him on the sofa. Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, Sherlock regarded the smaller man with curious eyes.  
They had been living together for almost two years now and John still didn’t know the truth about him. It was kind of funny actually. Not a single human that Sherlock worked with knew the truth, though a couple suspected he wasn’t quite human. That was the reason Donovan and Anderson were so uncomfortable around him.  
As he waited for John to regain consciousness, Sherlock lost himself in thought, remembering those days so long ago.

Sherlock and Mycroft had been changed by the same vampire when they were children, aged at seventeen and fifteen, if his memory served correctly. Unlike the stories, vampires could chose to stop aging at a certain time. Their mother had been a Lady in one of the many courts that had been around so long ago. She had been walking her boy’s home after a long day at court when they were attacked. She had been killed in front of them and they were dragged out into the woods to a small cabin. They had been left there for days before the man that had attacked them had come back. He was pale and gaunt, like he hadn’t eaten properly in months. His eyes had been a deep gold, like some of the dishes Sherlock had seen at court with his mother. He hadn’t paid any attention to the boys, moving about the place as though they weren’t there.  
“What are you going to do with us?” Mycroft had spoken up, chin held high as he pretended to not be scared.  
The man stilled for a moment, then turn to face them where they huddled in a corner. “I haven’t decided yet,” he replied. “I’m trying to decide whether to kill you both or turn you.”  
“Turn us?” Sherlock asked, curious as always.  
“You don’t know what I am?” The man asked, stepping forward and crouching down in front of them.  
The boys shook their heads. The man smiled and leaned closer. “I’m a vampire,” he told them in a whisper, as if it were a big secret.  
Sherlock had frowned, and shook his head again. “But mummy told us that vampires don’t exist.”  
The man laughed and stood up. “I like you kids. I think I’ll keep you.”  
“What do you mean keep us? Our father will is looking for us as we speak, you can’t hope to hide us for much longer,” Mycroft spoke, his voice sounding so sure.  
The pale man cocked his head to the side as if listening. “Speaking of your father…” he turned at stood next to the door.  
“Sherlock! Mycroft! Are you boys in there?” Their father voice came from outside the cabin and the boys glanced at each other, then at the man by the door.  
The man nodded at them, gesturing for them to go. Mycroft stood immediately, moving to the door, but Sherlock grabbed his arm, a frown creasing his forehead. “Wait,” he said, his eyes flickering up and down the vampire, gathering data. It was something he was born with, after all.  
Mycroft looked at Sherlock and saw the calculating gaze, knowing what he was doing. Instead of going out the door, he called out. “We’re in here, father! There is a man with is but we haven’t been hurt.”  
The man behind the door smiled and nodded, as if pleased.  
The door rattled for a moment then swung open, revealing their father, his eyes sweeping over the room before landing on his children. He took two steps into the room before Sherlock yelled, “Wait!”  
Too late though. The man that had brought them here was already moving, pale fingers wrapping around their father’s neck, pulling him back against the vampire’s chest.  
“Well, hello Mister Holmes. How are you this fine evening?”  
“Better now that I have found my sons,” he replied, voice calm.  
The vampire nodded. “Makes sense. Though I suppose you are now more concerned with how to leave here.” He released the shorter man and stepped back, closing the door to the cabin and locking it. “Have a seat Holmes; I would like to speak with you about your children.”  
“What about my children?” He asked, seating himself on the single chair in the room.  
“I would like to turn them,” the vampire replied, leaning back to rest against the wall. “Make them like me. Vampires.”  
Grayson Holmes laughed at him. “Why on earth would I agree to that?” he asked, still laughing.  
The vampire smiled. “Because it’s that or I kill all three of you.”  
“What’s to stop me from killing you, sir?” Grayson asked, hand tightening on the cane he carried with him always.  
“You won’t be able to kill me before I get to at least one of your boys. I’m thinking the younger one first. He seems more intelligent,” the vampire tilted his head to the side again in thought. “Though the older one is more…shall we say, refined, than his brother. He would make a good aristocrat.”  
The boys glanced at each other, then at their father. Sherlock spoke up, his voice calm and reasonable. “What’s to stop you from killing us anyway?”  
“Good question, Sherlock,” the vampire said, leaning forward. “And the answer? Absolutely nothing. You’ll just have to trust me.”  
“And why would we trust you? You killed our mother,” Sherlock pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.  
The vampire looked at Grayson, his eyebrows raised. “You let him speak to people like this?”  
Grayson shrugged. “He speaks the truth; I don’t see why I should stop him,” he paused, arms going around his son’s shoulders. “Besides, we don’t even know your name. How could we trust a man with no name?”  
The vampire laughed. “Very well. My name is Asher. And before you ask, no, I do not have a last name.”


	4. Chapter 4

Getting closer to the good part… I think…

 

Sherlock was brought back to the present by a groan as John started to wake up. He dabbed a wet cloth over a particularly nasty cut on John’s forehead, cleaning away the blood as he very purposefully did not breathe. “John?” He whispered, knowing that any loud noises would hurt the other man’s head. “John, I need you to open your eyes for me. I need to see how badly you are hurt.”  
John groaned again, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before opening slowly. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision of the blurs that was supposed to be Sherlock.  
“Sherlock?” John’s voice was slightly slurred, as he reached a hand out, gripping the taller man’s hand were it was cleaning his face. He held the hand still for a moment as he tried to gather his thoughts. Suddenly he sat up, hands going to Sherlock’s chest, pulling the shirt open. “Sherlock, are you okay? I saw him stab you!”  
Sherlock gently grasped John’s wrists, mindful of the scrapes there. “John, I’m fine. You must have hit your head harder than I thought. He didn’t get me, I moved back in time. Just caught my shirt.”  
John frowned, looking down at the pale chest he had exposed. “Then where did all the blood come from?” he asked, fingertips trailing along unblemished skin, not noticing the shudder that ran through the taller man’s body.  
“I got too close to him when I stabbed him. It must be his.” Sherlock voice was shaky, his head bowed over their hands.  
John pulled a hand loose and brought it to Sherlock’s face, tilting it up to look at him. “Sherlock? What’s wrong? You are acting a bit strange,” he said quietly, his palm cupping a pale cheek. Sherlock closed his eyes, and leaned into the touch, inhaling the scent of John’s skin. Sighing, he released his grip on John’s other hand, pulling away from him slightly.  
“I need to wrap your wounds, John.”  
John frowned again, letting his hands drop to his lap. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Why am I not hurting as bad as I should be? Don’t I have a broken rib?” He was starting to feel a bit fuzzy at the edges and that usually meant some kind of medication.  
Sherlock smiled. “Cracked, actually, but yes you should be feeling more pain. And you would be if I hadn’t already given you a dose of Morphine.”  
John looked sheepish, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, I should have realized that you had given me something.” His eyes widened after a moment, a look of panic crossing his features. “Um…Sherlock?”  
Sherlock turned to look at him from where he was gathering supplies. “Yes?”  
“Um…I feel I should let you know that… well, I guess I should tell you that I get a bit…strange…when I take Morphine,” John stuttered out eventually, color high in his cheeks.  
Sherlock frowned. “Strange, how?”  
If possible John’s cheeks got darker, the red spreading to his ears now as well. “Well, I don’t exactly remember the last time, but Harry told me that they ended up having to keep everyone out of my room until it wore off…She said that I…well…she said it was like I was drunk and that that was putting it mildly.” John took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “So, can we hurry up so I can lock myself in my room before this kicks in all the way?” He paused. “Pills or a shot?”  
Sherlock was more than a bit curious now and it was obvious on his face. “We can try, and pills” he replied, walking back over to the couch and helping to tug John’s jumper over his head.  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he took in the damage to John’s chest, dark bruises already forming on the left side of his torso. Seeing his expression, John looked down, gaze following Sherlock’s.  
“Well, that looks painful,” he said, poking a finger into the worst of the bruise.  
Sherlock looked up at him quickly, noting the dilating pupils and unfocused gaze. “John,” he said carefully, drawing the other man’s attention away from his chest. “John, the Morphine is taking hold. Is there anything I should know before it does?”  
John blinked at him, taking a few extra seconds to focus. “Morphine?”  
Sherlock nodded slowly. “Yes, John. Morphine. I gave you a dose of it as soon as we got back here. You told me it makes you act strange. Is there anything else I need to know before it finishes entering your system?”  
John smiled a bit sadly and nodded. “Might want to button your shirt back up. Harry told me I tend to ignore people’s…bubbles; I think is the word she used. I ignore personal boundaries.”  
Sherlock raises his eyebrows but does as he’s told. By the time he finishes, John is swaying in his seat, eyes half closed. “John? You still with me?”  
John smiled again, the same sad smile as before. “Always, Sherlock,” he replied softly, hand coming up to cup a pale cheek. “I’ll always be here. Can’t leave now that I…” the doctor trailed off, his thumb stroking softly over Sherlock’s cheekbone.  
Sherlock had paused when John touched his face, savoring the contact. Now he continued moving forward. “Arms up, John. I need to wrap your ribs.” John just looked at him, not registering what had been said.  
Sherlock sighed and lifted John’s arms, laying them across his own shoulders, where they curled, wrapping around him tightly. Sherlock’s movements stuttered for a moment, then resumed again more slowly than before, hands careful as they wrapped the Ace bandage around John’s torso.  
John sighed and nuzzled into the pale neck next to his face, knowing he probably wouldn’t get another chance like this again. He planned to take full advantage.  
While it was true that any dose of Morphine lowered his inhibitions greatly, he did still have some control over what he did. Like now. He was choosing to follow his instincts and get as close to Sherlock as possible. As Sherlock wrapped his chest tightly, John threaded his fingers into inky curls, tugging gently, noticing the shiver that ran through the pale man. John smiled into Sherlock’s neck and nuzzled closer, inhaling deeply. He noticed that the other man’s breathing was getting faster and took that as a very good sign. Brushing his lips against Sherlock’s neck, he kissed a spot just under the jaw, the pale man drawing a shuddering breath.  
Sherlock’s hands fell to his side, his fingers curling as he tried not to touch, to not encourage. He let out a low moan when John nipped his earlobe, his head falling back and his eyes sliding closed even as they darkened to the gold that indicated a loss in control. “John…” the name fell from his lips in a sigh, hands sliding up muscled arms, fingers tangling in short hair. Sherlock slid to his knees in front of the couch, trying to get closer to John’s warmth.  
John continued kissing Sherlock’s neck, tongue darting out to taste occasionally. His hands were still in Sherlock’s curly hair, which was far more mussed than John had ever seen it. When Sherlock’s head fell back and he moaned, John felt like he had won a small victory. He started kissing along Sherlock’s jaw, hands moving forward to cup his face. As he kissed the edge of Sherlock’s lips, he opened his eyes, taking in the lax features and slight flush in pale cheeks.  
As if sensing the scrutiny, Sherlock’s eyes opened and he lowered his head. “John…Don’t do this…” he whispered, hands cupping John’s face gently. “Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
John looked confused for a moment before his eyes cleared. “Please…just a kiss,” he pleaded, voice almost desperate. “One kiss. Please, Sherlock. Then I’ll stop and we won’t bring it up ever again. Please.”  
Sherlock closed his eyes tightly, leaning his forehead against John’s, getting his breathing back under control. After a minute he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “One kiss. Then I need you to drop this until you are completely sober. Deal?”  
John frowned but nodded. “Deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

Groping here…some more blood… felt I should let everyone know  
I also want to mention how much I love a certain author over on livejournal by the name etothepii. Go read their shit. Its awesome!!

 

Sherlock leaned back a few inches, his nose brushing John’s. Tilting John’s head a bit, he brought their mouths together, the doctor’s eyes falling closed at the contact, a small noise escaping his throat as he surged forward, the kiss turning frantic on John’s part. John ran his tongue over Sherlock’s lips, begging entrance, which was given hesitantly. As their tongues met, John scooted forward, Sherlock cradled in between his thighs.  
Sherlock’s fingers clenched in John’s hair, holding him in place as he lost control of the kiss. He started pushing John backward gently, laying him down on the couch as he crouched over him, mouths still fused together. John’s hands slid down Sherlock’s back, finding the edge of his shirt and tugging it free of his pants. One hand slid back up, smoothing over the skin of his back, the other hand sliding under the waistband of the slacks Sherlock wore.  
Sherlock lowered himself onto John from the waist down, one of his hands sliding along John’s jaw, tilting his head back as he trailed his lips down a tanned neck. He placed open-mouthed kisses along the pulse there as John thrust against him, breath coming in harsh pants.  
Sherlock regained enough of his senses to pull back for a moment, looking down into John’s face. “Do you know why I didn’t want to do this, John?” he asked, breathlessly.  
John slowed his movements, showing that he was listening, though his hands still kneaded Sherlock’s shoulder and buttock. He shook his head, too dazed to speak.  
Sherlock leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I’m not human, John. I haven’t been human for a very long time. I didn’t want to do this because I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t trust myself with you.”  
John’s eyes had opened, the haze of pleasure in them fading slightly at the seriousness in Sherlock’s voice. “Then what are you?” he asked, his voice barely audible.  
Sherlock smiled and raised his head, letting the humanity slide from his face, his teeth lengthening, and his eyes bleeding to a deep gold. Looking into John’s eyes he let the man see everything he and Mycroft had kept hidden from the world. “I am a vampire, John.”  
John had tensed when he witnessed Sherlock’s face transform, already knowing what he was going to say. Some of the details from his rescue fell into place, including the bit about Sherlock being stabbed but not being hurt.  
Sherlock watched the emotions running through John’s eyes, the disbelief, betrayal, and wonder. He was waiting for the fear that always came, the horror at the thought of a creature such as him even existing. He blinked when John smiled, pulling Sherlock’s hips back into his own. Sherlock moaned, head dropping to rest on John’s shoulder. “John…What are you-“ his voice was a bit breathless.  
“I don’t care what you are, Sherlock. I want you. Fangs and all,” he said with a small smile. “I trust you not to hurt me. You are still Sherlock. No matter what your eating habits happen to be.” John brought a hand up to card through Sherlock’s hair in a comforting gesture, even as his hips kept moving gently. Sherlock’s arms were shaking and his hands were clenched in the pillow under John’s head, his nails tearing the fabric easily. “I’ve killed people, John.”  
John actually laughed at that. “You forget who you’re talking to? So have I Sherlock.” John used both hands and brought Sherlock’s face up to look at him. “Nothing you can tell me will make me afraid of you, Sherlock. I’m not going to run away screaming if that’s what you’re afraid of,” he told the pale man, his voice gentle. He leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on the vampire’s mouth, no hesitancy in his movements.  
Sherlock made a small sound in his chest and kissed him back, tongue seeking John’s as he finally just let himself go, his hips thrusting against John’s urgently. In his haste to deepen the kiss, John managed to nick his tongue on one of Sherlock’s fangs, the coppery taste of blood filling their mouths.  
The moment it touched Sherlock’s tongue, he pulled back, hand flying to his mouth as he fell to the floor in his hurry. He was shaking his head rapidly, eyes clenched tightly as he fought with himself.  
John sighed and sat up, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absently. “Sherlock?” He slid to his knees in front of the other man, laying his hands on his shoulders. Sherlock jerked away violently, knocking over several stacks of books as he scooted up against the wall, his hands covering his face.  
John huffed in annoyance, a frown creasing his brow as he tried to figure out how to grab Sherlock’s attention again. He wasn’t too particular on if it was good attention or bad at the moment either.  
He chose bad attention.  
John rose carefully to his feet, feeling the effects of the Morphine in his system, and made his way to the kitchen. Grabbing one of the knives they had next to the sink, he pulled his sleeve up to his elbow and looked at his arm, trying to pick a place that would bleed well but not too much. Finally, he laid the blade against his skin and drew it carefully across his arm, blood welling to the surface immediately. He felt movement behind him and dropped the knife, spinning around just in time to see Sherlock come to a stop inches in front of him, his eyes focused on the blood running freely down his arm.  
John held his arm up closer to Sherlock’s face, watching the way the golden eyes followed the movement without blinking. “Don’t be wasteful, Sherlock,” he said quietly. Sherlock’s eyes flickered up to his face, then back down again, his hands reaching up to grasp John’s arm at wrist and elbow. John could see the struggle in his eyes, not wanting to hurt John, but not exactly willing to let that much fresh blood go to waste.  
To help him along, John dipped his fingers in the blood and lifted it to the half-open mouth. He ran the tips of those fingers over the quivering lips and felt Sherlock’s tongue flick out to taste, seemingly without thought on his part. Sherlock’s eyes fell closed and a low growl came from deep in his chest as he dropped to his knees in front of John. A pink tongue darted out to taste the blood that had made its way to John’s wrist. After that John is pretty sure it was all instinct.  
Sherlock’s hands convulsed for a moment, his mouth latching onto the cut as soon as he had cleaned up the excess blood on John’s arm. John let out a whimper at the feeling as Sherlock slowly sucked on his arm, his knees going weak as pleasure coiled low in his belly. He swayed, his free hand reaching up and resting on the mop of curly hair in front of him. Sherlock’s eyes opened at the touch, concern flickering through them. He started to draw away, but John shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “Keep going, Sherlock. My knees went weak there for a second.” The look in Sherlock’s eyes turned smug for a moment, the frown creasing his forehead smoothing out.  
Sherlock did pull away though, much to John’s disappointment. Standing back up, Sherlock wrapped an arm around John’s waist, his other hand cupping his cheek as he placed a chaste kiss on John’s lips. “Let’s get you up to bed, John,” he said quietly.  
John face transformed into what could only be described as a pout. “But, I’m not tired,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders tightly.  
Sherlock chuckled and nuzzled the spot right behind John’s ear. “I didn’t say anything about going to sleep, did I?” he murmured, the man in his arms shivering.


	6. Chapter 6

Finally!! Smut!! …that’s about all this chappie is so if you don’t wanna read it skip (I think its hot so I wouldn’t but I wrote it so….yeah…)

 

“This may sound a bit…odd…but I don’t think my legs will hold,” John whispered, cheeks turning red.  
Sherlock smiled, his hands falling to cup John’s ass, “Up,” he said, lifting John as if he weighed nothing. John made a sound he would later swear wasn’t a squeak and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist as the other man held him effortlessly.  
In this position John found himself the taller of the two, and he took advantage of this fact, dipping his head and kissing Sherlock greedily as the man maneuvered them through the clutter of their living room. Sherlock took his time on the stairs, one hand on the railing for balance as John continued to kiss him, the other arm wrapped tightly around John’s hips.  
John seemed to be getting mildly impatient with just kissing and decided that Sherlock’s shirt was being offensive. To remedy that problem he fisted his hands in it and pulled, buttons flying as a pale chest was exposed. John ran his fingers over the muscles revealed to him reverently, fingertips following their edges softly, sending a shiver through Sherlock.  
Finally they made it to John’s room, Sherlock laying John on the bed gently, the shorter man refusing to release his hold on the vampire’s waist, instead using his new leverage to pull Sherlock up until their groins met again and they rocked together, both of them moaning.  
John dropped his hands to Sherlock’s waist, his legs falling open to allow room for his fingers to start work on Sherlock’s belt buckle, their movements jerky and clumsy in his haste. Noticing this, Sherlock pulled away and sat back on his heels, pale fingers swiftly undoing his own belt, then John’s. Sherlock slid off the end of the bed, dragging John’s pants and boxers down and off. Standing up straight, he shed the remainder of his own clothes as John watched with greedy eyes.  
Sherlock crawled back onto the bed, his movements more feline than human in that moment. He kissed his way up John’s leg, skipping over his groin and resuming just above his hips, tongue dipping into John’s navel, the doctor shuddering in pleasure. Sherlock skipped over the bandages on John’s chest, nipping lightly at the other man’s collarbones. John’s hands were kneading Sherlock’s shoulders impatiently, hips thrusting into empty air.  
“Sherlock…Please,” he pleaded, fingers curling into the vampire’s curls. He could feel the smile against the skin of his neck. He let out a loud moan as Sherlock sank his teeth into his neck quickly, sucking slowly. John’s body shuddered when the teeth were withdrawn, Sherlock’s tongue lapping up any blood that had escaped. “Fuck, Sherlock…” he breathed, shivers running through his arms.  
Sherlock let a chuckle escape his lips. “I fully intend to, John,” he whispered in his ear. Sherlock disappeared from the bed for a moment, returning with a bottle of lotion from the bathroom. John started to spread his legs wider but Sherlock stopped him, straddling his knees. “What are you doing?” John asked breathlessly, his hands clenched in the sheets to either side of Sherlock’s knees.  
“What does it look like, John?” Sherlock retorted, voice low as he opened the lotion and poured some onto his hand, then recapping it and setting it aside.  
John swallowed loudly, his mouth suddenly dry. “Well, it looks like you’re- Jesus Christ!” John exclaimed as Sherlock wrapped a slick hand around his shaft, pumping slowly. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and replaced his own with it. As Sherlock leaned back, John realized why. The other man was spreading his knees further apart, his hands sliding between his own legs, fingertips trailing up his thighs as he watched John. Sherlock’s eyes slid closed as his fingers disappeared inside himself, his hips thrusting forward gently.  
John’s motions stuttered as he watched Sherlock prepare himself, not really noticing when the other man removed his fingers and moved forward, moving John’s hand away and lifting himself up. Both men moaned when he slid himself down, John’s hands grasping pale hips tightly.  
Sherlock leaned forward, hands reaching for the railing at the head of the bed, the metal creaking as he tightened his grip. John watched the man above him, noticing the shaking in his arms and legs. He watched Sherlock’s golden eyes darken even further, changing to an almost bronze. As John moved his hips just a fraction, he watched that sinful mouth fall open in a shuddering gasp, the man’s canines even longer than before, he also noticed that it wasn’t just the vampire’s canines that grew, the teeth just behind them lengthened a bit too.  
Sherlock rocked his hips slowly, the movement so fluid John didn’t think all the man’s bones were in their proper places. The dark haired man pushed back hard on John’s next thrust, crying out in pleasure. John let out a loud groan, eyes falling closed momentarily.  
Hooking his ankle around Sherlock’s leg, John twisted, the vampire letting out a sound of surprise when he found himself on his back, John braced over him, a smile on his face. “Much better,” John said, tilting Sherlock’s hips and thrusting deep.  
“Shit, shit, shit!” Sherlock gasped, fingers wrapping around John’s upper arms in a grip that would leave bruises, though neither noticed at the time. The second time John thrust like that, all Sherlock managed was a strangled moan.  
John leaned down, nipping Sherlock’s ear. “That good, huh?” He asked, thrusting again. Sherlock keened, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he nodded rapidly.  
“Yes. God, yes… so good, John,” Sherlock gasped out, a hands sliding up John’s arms to his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, the blood from his lip smearing across both of their mouths, adding a coppery tang that John found he didn’t mind at all.  
John shifted his knees, sliding them under the pale man’s thighs and grabbed slim hips. Kissing Sherlock deeply, he snapped his hips forward as he pulled the vampire into him. Bronze eyes flew open as the man wailed, back arching off the bed as he came, the shudders from his body dragging John over the edge as well, the shorter man smothering a shout in a pale shoulder.  
As John caught his breath, he realized one seemingly important fact. His ribs didn’t hurt and the Morphine would have worn off over an hour ago…


	7. Chapter 7

Short I know but it just wasn’t working tonight… sorry…

 

“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock hummed, fingers skimming over John’s shoulders.  
“Why don’t my ribs hurt?” John asked quietly, his own fingers playing in Sherlock’s hair.  
Sherlock’s hand froze and he sat up, pulling John with him. Pushing him back, Sherlock began unwinding the bandage around John’s chest quickly, a frown on his face. As more of John’s skin was exposed, the frown got deeper. When the last of the wrap fell away, John stared down at himself in surprise, trailing the tips of his fingers over his skin.  
Where there should have been ugly bruises, there was only tanned skin. In fact, the only bruises he had on his body were from Sherlock’s fingers where they had gripped just a bit too hard at his arms –not that he was complaining, of course.  
“John…how much of my blood did you get in your mouth?” The vampire asked quietly, running pale fingers over the faint scar on John’s arm where he had cut himself that same night.  
John thought about it for a minute, frowning. “Um, not much. You weren’t bleeding very heavily at all,” he finally responded. “Why?”  
Sherlock was silent for a long time, just running his fingers over John’s skin. When he did speak it was so quietly that John had to lean forward to hear him. “Vampire blood is extremely toxic to most humans, John. The more they consume, the deadlier it is. The only time it isn’t toxic is when the human is being turned.”  
“So,” John started slowly. “I’m going to get sick?”  
Sherlock looked up at him, wonder in his expression. “If you were going to get sick, you would have already. That’s the point I’m trying to make. You ingested vampire blood without any side effects. As far as I know the only humans that can do that are-“ Sherlock cut off suddenly, eyes going wide.  
“Sherlock?” John asked, getting worried. His worry increased when Sherlock brought his hands up, cupped John’s face gently, and leaned his forehead against the doctor’s, his now blue-gray eyes sliding closed.  
Sherlock started whispering, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality that had John closing his eyes. “It is said that the only humans that can sustain a vampire for long periods of time can also drink their vampire’s blood, healing wounds and slowing the aging process without being Turned. These humans were also either the vampires’ lovers or their siblings. Though only one was ever the sibling. The council termed these humans the vampire’s mates, forbidding any vampire to harm another’s mate. If the law was broken, either that vampire was killed, or its mate was. If it had one. In all my years I have only met one other vampire with a mate, though you couldn’t tell it by looking at them.” Sherlock opened his eyes and kissed John’s forehead gently, hazel eyes opening slowly. “So, no, John. You aren’t going to get sick. You will never be sick again. Nor will you die of old age.”  
Sherlock pulled the smaller man to him, wrapping pale arms around John’s chest and burying his nose in his short hair. “You are my mate, John,” he murmured, sighing happily when John wrapped strong arms around him, returning the hug. “You are mine, and no one will ever take you from me.”  
John smiled softly at Sherlock’s possessiveness. “It works both ways, you know,” John informed him, poking a finger into his vampire’s chest. “You are mine as much as I am yours.”  
Sherlock nodded. “Obvious.”


	8. Chapter 8

I’m hoping the length of this chapter will make up for the previous one.

 

“So…what exactly does being your mate entail?” John asked as he made himself a cup of tea the next morning. He jumped when long arms wrapped around him from behind and he was glad his cup was still on the counter.  
Sherlock nuzzled into John’s hair and smiled. “Nothing much will change. Just a few minor details,” he replied, kissing John’s neck.  
“Which details would those be?” John pressed, relaxing into the embrace.  
“Well, one obvious change is that you are now my lover. Another change would be my food source.”  
John frowned, not following. “Your food source?”  
Sherlock smiled and tugged John’s jumper away from his neck, eyes flashing gold as he sank teeth into tanned skin, his lips sealing around the wound so no blood would escape.  
John went from playful to painfully hard in the time it took Sherlock to swallow his first mouthful. He moaned when Sherlock pulled away slightly, his next words whispered in John’s ear. “We didn’t exactly cement our bond last night, John,” the vampire told him, sliding one of his hands under John’s shirt to rest on his stomach.  
“Yeah? And how would we go about doing that?” John asked breathlessly, fingers of one hand tangling in Sherlock’s inky curls, the fingers of his other hand twining with Sherlock’s on his stomach.  
Sherlock raised that hand up in front of his face. “Trust me?” he whispered in John’s ear.  
“Of course,” John responded automatically.  
Sherlock was silent for a moment, just staring at their joined hands. After a few minutes, he brought his wrist up to his mouth. “Then drink, John. Drink and be mine forever,” he said, and bit into pale skin below his shirt sleeve.  
John untangled their fingers and gripped Sherlock’s wrist, glancing back at the vampire’s face, then back to the bleeding wrist in front of him. “Forever?”  
Sherlock nodded. “You will live as long as I do. Probably longer. You will be stronger, faster, harder to hurt, and nearly impossible to kill. You will never get sick, never have to worry about aching bones or old scars bothering you with the change in weather. In fact, most of your scars will most likely disappear soon if you keep feeding from me.”  
John closed his eyes, not really caring about any of that, other than the fact that he would be able to spend a long and semi-healthy life with Sherlock. “Okay,” he whispered, his tongue darting out to taste the blood still oozing from Sherlock’s wrist. The taste was more appealing than he had thought. He licked up the extra blood, then sealed his mouth around the wound, sucking gently.  
Sherlock moaned and pulled John tighter to his chest, his hand wrapped around the other man’s hip as he rocked into him. John echoed the moan when Sherlock’s teeth pierced his throat again, the two men drinking from each other and completing their bond.  
Sherlock doesn’t know how long they stood there feeding each other, but the moment was broken quite suddenly by a knock on the door and heavy footsteps stopping abruptly in the kitchen doorway.  
“Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing to John?!” Geoffrey Lestrade shouted, yanking the smaller man away from the detective. “And why the hell is there blood everywhere?” he asked, grabbing a rag and holding it to John’s neck, the doctor still too dazed to really notice what was happening.  
Sherlock on the other hand was just this side of furious, his back to the DI as he tried to calm himself. “Nothing is wrong, Lestrade.” He said, his voice carefully controlled. “Why are you here?”  
“What do you mean ‘nothing is wrong’? One or both of you are bleeding and John looks like he’s going into shock.”  
Sherlock managed to get his features under control enough to be able to turn around. “We are fine, Lestrade.”  
John chose that moment to snap out of his daze, his hand pushing Geoff’s out of the way and wiping at the blood on his neck, revealing smooth, untouched skin. “See? I’m perfectly fine,” he said, smiling at the gray-haired man, who narrowed his eyes.  
“Then where did the blood on your face come from? And don’t tell me it was a nosebleed, I won’t believe you, seeing as there isn’t any blood around your nose.”  
John looked over at Sherlock, hoping for some sort of prompt or typical smart-assed comment. He frowned when he noticed the other man leaning over the sink, his shoulders shaking. Ignoring Lestrade for the moment, John moved over to his lover, resting a hand on a trembling shoulder. “Sherlock?”  
The taller man jumped, turning his head quickly to look at John, golden eyes wide. “Help me, John,” he whispered, too quietly for Geoff to hear. “I need to calm down before I hurt him.”  
John nodded and cupped Sherlock’s face, again ignoring Lestrade’s surprised gasp. Sherlock’s eyes slid closed as their lips met softly, pale hands resting on narrow hips. They kissed softly for a few moments, closed-mouthed kisses meant to comfort and reassure, before John pulled back gently. Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and John smiled, nodding at him.  
Sherlock returned the smile and wrapped his arms around John’s waist, pulling him into a hug as he turned to lean back against the edge of the sink.  
“So how long has that been going on?” Geoff asked, rubbing a hand through the hair at the base of his neck nervously, a blush high in his cheeks.  
Sherlock chuckled. “Since last night, not that it’s any of your business, Lestrade.”  
Geoff raised his eyebrows, disbelief clear in his features.  
John tugged Sherlock’s head down again, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Sherlock’s frown smoothed out as their lips met again, John’s tongue forcing the taller man’s mouth open as he fisted his hands in Sherlock’s hair, drawing a startled moan from him. Sherlock clenched his hands in John’s jumper, careful not to rip the material, and kissed his lover back. The kiss was all teeth and tongues, sex in every movement. Just as suddenly as he initiated it, John pulled away, barely out of breath, the smile on his face triumphant.  
Geoff blinked rapidly. “Right. Last night. With a kiss like that?”  
Sherlock didn’t bother replying, too busy trying to get his breath back to form a coherent response. He chose to shoot a glare at John instead.  
“So,” John started cheerfully. “What did you need, Geoff?”  
Geoff cleared his throat, finally looking away from the consulting detective. “I need Sherlock’s opinion on a case the Super gave me this morning. It’s a cold case but it seems to be something that might interest you two.”  
Sherlock frowned, walking back into the living room to take his usual place in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “What’s so strange about it?” he asked, eyes falling half-closed.  
Geoff sighed, leaning back against the doorframe. “Just trust me on this one, Sherlock. It’s strange.”  
John sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting his morning cuppa today. “Let’s just go with him, Sherlock. It’s not like we had anything on today.”  
Sherlock’s eyes slid to John slowly, his gaze starting at the doctor’s feet and moving up his body leisurely. By the time his gray-blue eyes met hazel, the shorter man had a blush high in his cheeks. John did an about-face and went back up to his room quickly.  
Geoff blinked in confusion, having missed the heated look. “Where’d he go?”  
Sherlock smiled. “Upstairs to change,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Wait here.”  
Sherlock went to his own room, feeling like dressing down today. He pulled out his favorite pair of jeans and one of his more comfortable shirts, this one a dark red. He changed quickly, running a comb through his hair since he hadn’t bothered when he woke up.  
When he got back out to the living room Lestrade was talking to John quietly about what he had walked in on.  
“I don’t know what was going on with you two, and I really don’t think I need to, but it looked dangerous from where I was standing.”  
John smiled his ‘everything is fine here, nothing to see’ smile. “Whatever happened here this morning was completely consensual, Geoff. And as far as I’m concerned, it always will be. If you ever do need to know what happened I’m sure Sherlock would let me explain.”  
Sherlock slid up behind his lover, arms wrapping around a toned chest loosely. He planted a soft kiss on John’s neck where he had bitten him earlier. “He’s right. It was consensual. And yes it always will be.”  
Smiling, John hugged Sherlock’s arms to him, tilting his head unconsciously to allow better access to his neck. In return, Sherlock nipped gently at the skin exposed, the man in his arms shivering in pleasure.  
Geoff watched them, his eyes narrowed. He had never seen a pair more suited to each other, but it still scared him to think that this just started last night and already they were this comfortable with each other. What really bothered him though, was what he had seen when he walked in on them. If he believed in such things, he would have sworn Sherlock had his teeth deep in John’s neck. He would have also sworn that the man’s eyes weren’t their usual pale blue either, but a deep burnished gold. But, of course, vampires didn’t exist.  
Lestrade cleared his throat pointedly, the two men looking up at him. Again he could swear Sherlock’s eyes had been a different color for a split second before that intense gaze lowered back down to John. “Ready?” he asked them, motioning to the door.  
Sherlock hummed his agreement, releasing his lover slowly. “Let’s go, then.”


	9. Chapter 9

Another short one but the content of the next is goooooood

 

When they got to the Yard, Geoff led them to his office, both of the other men ignoring the derisive comments from Anderson and Donovan, though John’s hands clenched at his sides when they called Sherlock a freak. He had always hated when they called him that just because he was smarter than them.  
As if sensing his agitation, Sherlock rested his hand on John’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Don’t listen to them, love,” he whispered. “I know I never do.”  
John shot a surprised look up at Sherlock’s face, but the consulting detective was already picking up the file that was sitting in the middle of Lestrade’s desk. He felt a flush start working its way up his neck at the endearment.  
As Sherlock read through the file, his eyebrows rose significantly. “You can’t be serious?”  
John scooted closer so he could read the file. “Hm?”  
Lestrade looked between the two of them and nodded. “I’m very serious.”  
John sent a pointed look Sherlock’s way, then reached over and locked the DI’s office door. “Guess we tell him sooner rather than later.”  
Sherlock heaved a deep sigh and sat down, getting comfortable. “Fine,” he said and John closed the blinds on the windows that made up Lestrade’s office. When he finished that, he went and sat, completely ignoring the second chair in favor of Sherlock’s lap, the vampire’s arms going around him automatically.  
“Tell me what, John?” Geoff asked suspiciously, not liking the look on their faces.  
John sighed and Sherlock smirked, kissing John’s neck. “About what you know you saw this morning,” he said.  
Geoff’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly did I see?”  
John sighed. “Might as well just show him, he won’t believe us otherwise,” he said, undoing the top three buttons of his shirt and pulling the collar away from his neck. He let his head fall back onto Sherlock’s shoulder, the other man’s focus not leaving the man behind the desk as he let his control slip. Sherlock’s eyes bled gold as he sank his teeth into the tanned flesh slowly, John letting out a groan, right hand reaching back and fisting in inky curls.  
Lestrade was frozen in Sherlock’s unblinking gaze. “Jesus…” he breathed. “You’re a vampire…”  
Sherlock drew back slowly, licking the blood from John’s neck. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I am not the only one here in London, though. And yes, John, Mycroft really is my brother. He was turned at the same time as me.” He frowned. “I think I know who was killing those people, but it would be impossible to find him now.”  
John frowned, not thinking anything was impossible to Sherlock. “Why not now? And who is it?”  
Sherlock rested his chin on John’s shoulder, giving the smaller man a gentle squeeze. “Asher. My maker.”  
John sighed and buttoned his shirt. “Let’s head back to Baker street. We can talk freely there.”  
“Agreed,” Sherlock said, standing up and setting John on his feet. He looked at Lestrade, who was still looking at him with narrowed eyes.  
The gray-haired man nodded slowly and stood, grabbing the file folder and his coat.


	10. Chapter 10

You are going to hate me by the end of this…

 

They took a cab back to 221B, figuring it would be easier in case Lestrade ended up staying for a while. Lestrade was quiet the whole ride, not looking at either of them as he thought about what Sherlock had said.  
As soon as the cab door opened, Sherlock let out a low growl, raising the hairs on the back of Geoff’s neck. John looked at the vampire and sighed at his expression.  
“Your brother is here I take it?” he asked.  
Sherlock nodded tightly, getting out of the cab and unlocking the front door, no pause in his stride at all as he marched upstairs, hands fisted at his sides.  
John caught the front door as it started to swing closed, barely avoiding catching his fingers, Lestrade on his heels. “Sherlock, wait up would you?”  
John disappeared up the steps faster than Lestrade thought possible. Almost as soon as he went through the door, Geoff heard a loud crash and thump, like someone getting knocked into something. Soon after that he heard an inhuman snarl and he sped up his pace.  
Stumbling into the flat, Geoff slid to a stop, not believing the sight in front of him.  
John was pinned to the wall just inside the door, the man holding him in place none other than Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft had a pale hand wrapped around John’s neck, keeping the other man’s feet a good two inches off the floor, but he wasn’t fighting. John had his hands wrapped around the elder Holmes’ wrist and was glaring at him even as his face started turning red. Sherlock was behind his brother, his expression furious as he hissed something about mates in his ear.  
Mycroft ignored him except to say, “Don’t lie to me brother, not just to keep your pet human alive.”  
Sherlock snarled, arm snapping forward, fist landing square on his brother’s jaw, the crack of it startling Lestrade it was so loud. A blow like that probably would have killed a normal man, but all it did to Mycroft was snap his head to the side, drawing his attention.  
“Release him and I’ll prove it,” Sherlock said quietly, his voice like ice.  
Mycroft looked at him, eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said and dropped John, turning and sitting in one of the armchairs. “Prove it to me brother. Let him drink your blood. Kill him to fool yourself.”  
The only indication that John gave of having been pinned to the wall was a small cough, even though his throat was already bruising. He stood slowly and walked over to his lover, the dark haired man taking off his jacket and undoing the button on his shirt cuff.  
Geoff flinched as Sherlock swiftly used his thumbnail to cut open his wrist, the blood sluggish and dark. John didn’t even hesitate, raising the proffered arm to his mouth and sealing his lips around the wound. The doctor’s eyes fell shut as his throat worked, a low sound echoing from his mouth.  
Mycroft was watching with increasingly narrowed eyes as Sherlock dipped his head, eyes falling closed as John drank. He nuzzled his nose into John’s hair, the shorter man pulling back slowly, a flush high in his cheeks. Sherlock immediately pulled him into a deep kiss, the blood on John’s mouth smearing on his chin. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock as they kissed, oblivious to the other people in the room.  
Sherlock pulled back slowly, eyes sliding to Mycroft, brows raised. “Well?”  
Mycroft stood slowly, walking around the table to get a closer look at John where his arms were still wrapped around Sherlock’s neck, nose buried in a pale collarbone. Sherlock whispered something to him, running hands up and down his back soothingly. John sighed and turned around, arms falling to his side as he lifted his chin in defiance.  
Mycroft circled the pair slowly, eyes raking up and down John every time he passed in front of him. “Hm,” he hummed, clearly not impressed. “Fine. He’s your mate. Congratulations. Now, what about him?” he asked, pointing to Lestrade.  
Sherlock glanced at Geoff, then back at his brother. “I will protect him,” he said simply.  
Mycroft looked shocked. “Protect him? You?” He barked out a laugh. “You think you can protect him and your mate?”  
“I can and I will,” Sherlock said, holding out a hand to Geoff. He smirked. “Besides… John doesn’t need me to protect him.”  
Lestrade looked at John, a frown on his face. John nodded at him and he walked forward, taking the offered hand carefully. Sherlock pulled Geoff half way behind him, as if to protect him from his brother.  
Mycroft stared at his little brother for a moment, head cocked to the side. When he spoke, his voice was casual, as if talking about the weather. “How long have you been feeding each other, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This morning we completed our bond.”  
“And did he taste your blood before, during, or after you had sex?”  
John’s face went red. “During,” Sherlock said slowly.  
“Accident?”  
“Yes.”  
“Hm,” Mycroft hummed, leaning on his umbrella. “How badly was he really hurt?”  
Lestrade gasped, looking over at John who was glaring at the older Holmes brother. “You were hurt? Are you okay?”  
John’s lips thinned as he stared at Mycroft. “I’m fine, Geoff.”  
“But you weren’t, were you? Cracked ribs, abrasions on your wrists and ankles from being handcuffed to a chair, and several bruises and lacerations from being beaten. Am I correct?”  
Geoff almost didn’t hear the reply it was so quiet, John’s voice sending a shiver down his spine as he saw a soldier for the first time, the blonde falling unconsciously into a parade rest. “Yes.”  
Mycroft didn’t seem to recognize the change in John, though Sherlock did, bringing his hands up to rest on the man’s shoulders gently. “John,” Sherlock said, the voice sounding almost as if he were afraid. John didn’t acknowledge him at all, head tilting to the side as it had the first time he had met Mycroft, calculating, evaluating.  
Mycroft’s gaze flickered to Sherlock for a moment, noting the new tension in his brother. “Is your little soldier coming out to play, Sherlock? Does he think he can hurt me?” His smile was condescending. “You know the rules Sherlock. If he attacks me I can defend myself.”  
Sherlock bared his teeth in a silent snarl. “You hurt him irreparably and your life is forfeit.”  
Mycroft nodded and slipped his jacket off his shoulders, loosening his tie. “I know the law.”  
Sherlock leaned down to whisper in John’s ear. “Hurt him if you can. Don’t let him get ahold of you. No killing blows.” He kissed a tan neck. “I love you.”  
John didn’t move, didn’t even blink as Sherlock guided Geoff back, out of the way.  
The instant Geoff was out of the way, Mycroft moved, blurring toward John, who stood there, waiting for him. Sherlock gasped, his hand clenching on Geoff’s shoulder almost painfully. “Move,” he whispered, eyes locked on John.  
Lestrade’s expression became dumbfounded as John’s eyes narrowed, arm coming up in what seemed like slow- motion. Right as Mycroft reached him, his arm snapped forward. There was a grunt from Mycroft as his nose broke, blood flowing even as he kept moving, hands reaching for John’s throat.  
John ducked, almost as fast as Sherlock, fist landing in Mycroft’s gut this time, followed by a kick to the kneecap. The sickening pop letting him know it had been dislocated at least.  
Geoff blinked, watching the two men fight. “How do you know when it’s over?” he asked Sherlock, turning his head but not looking away.  
Sherlock’s voice was soft with wonder when he finally responded. “When one is caught in a position that can kill a human. If done right, a fatal blow to you would be a fatal blow to one of us.”  
Geoff frowned. “Is it normal for him to be that fast? I mean I figured drinking your blood would make him faster but-“  
He cut off at a particularly loud snap, focus shifting back to the fight. Mycroft had managed to get ahold of John’s arm, breaking his wrist. John grunted in pain but kept going. It was then that Geoff and Sherlock noticed the knife in his hand, a silver gleam in the dull light as it flashed forward, slicing across Mycroft’s chest.  
Geoff blinked again. “When did he get that?”  
Sherlock’s voice was smug this time. “He’s been carrying his gun and multiple blades since the pool.”  
“Then why not just use the gun?”  
“Because that would be cheating. I don’t know how he knew but only blades are allowed in these fights,” he frowned suddenly, a thought occurring to him. “Though if Mycroft gets ahold of it-“ He cut off when his brother did just that, grabbing the blade and twisting, jerking it free of John’s grip. The vampire bared fangs as he lunged forward, sure of his victory.  
“John!” Sherlock made to move forward, knowing he wouldn’t be fast enough.  
At the last second John fell to his knees, rolling under Mycroft’s arms, even as he drew another blade, this one from his back. It was longer than the other, wicked looking as well, meant to kill painfully. A snarl on his own lips, John surged forward, thrusting it up, into Mycroft’s chest just as the blade the other man held slid home between his ribs.  
There was silence in the room for a moment. The men in the middle not moving, just staring at each other, faces cold still. John was completely steady, even as a trickle of blood ran from the side of his mouth, sliding down his chin.  
They jerked the blades out at the same time, Mycroft falling to his knees as he clapped a hand over his chest, waiting for the blood to slow.  
Sherlock made a broken sound and moved forward, catching John as he fell to all fours, coughing blood, breathe wheezing in his lungs.

 

I know….I’m evil….


	11. Chapter 11

I was just not going to post this chapter until like next week but I was gonna get yelled at by a friend for being evil. So here you go…

 

Mycroft laughed suddenly, his voice deep and rich. “Well done, John,” he said. “Well done.”  
Sherlock looked ready to commit murder as he opened his mouth to speak, but John laughed as well, although it turned into a racking cough. “Didn’t know who you were fucking with,” he replied.  
Mycroft laughed again, looking down at his chest, making sure the blood had stopped. He looked at his brother and smiled. “He’s perfect for you, brother. The brawn to your brains. One day of feeding and already he’s this strong. Think of what he’ll be like a week from now, or a year. I might be able to leave off surveillance for a while with him around.”  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Lestrade cut in, motioning to John. “Does it look like he’s going to survive that?”  
John laughed again, the sound more normal this time, as he sat up, Sherlock’s hand on his back. “Give me a hand here, Geoff,” he said, trying to lift himself off the floor.  
Even though his mouth was protesting, he moved to help, clasping John’s hand with one of his own and grabbing his elbow, levering him to his feet carefully. When he was vertical again, the doctor unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it aside to assess the damage. Sherlock finished taking it off and used it to wipe at the blood that had covered his lover’s tan skin.  
As more and more of the blood was cleaned away, Geoff couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. The place where Mycroft had stabbed him was no more than a shiny pink scar that was fading even as he looked at it. Already all the bruises were gone and John had use of the wrist the vampire had broken back.  
Geoff let out a whistle. “Where can I get me some of that?”  
Even Mycroft looked amused for that comment. “And what would you do with vampire blood even if you could stomach it? Run around saving innocents?”  
Geoff laughed, shaking his head. “It’d just be nice to have on hand in case something were to happen. And what do you mean ‘if I could stomach it’? John was just fine.”  
John smiled, a little sadly. “Vampire blood is toxic to most humans, Geoff. The only reason I can handle it is because I’m Sherlock’s mate.” At Geoff’s blank look, John hummed, leaning back into Sherlock to offer comfort to the still-shaken man. “I’m his…soul mate, for lack of a better term. I’m his other half. I will live as long as he does.”  
“He will never get sick. He will never look a day older than he does now. Even if he didn’t drink from Sherlock regularly, it would be like that. Drinking from Sherlock will make him able to heal faster. It even heals old wounds, if you hadn’t noticed,” Mycroft said, gesturing to John’s left shoulder.  
All three men looked. The gunshot would had all but disappeared, only the faintest mark left in its place. John sighed. “Well, damn. I kind of liked that one.”  
Sherlock snorted. “You lost the scar but look at your range of movement now, love,” he told him, lifting John’s arm until his fingers were pointed at the ceiling.  
John blinked. “Bloody hell.”  
Geoff frowned. “What was the range before?”  
“Shoulder height,” John responded absently, lowering his arm to demonstrate, his hand formed in the shape of a gun.  
Geoff raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were right handed?”  
John smiled, shaking his head.  
Sherlock grinned, raising John’s other hand and forming it to the same shape. “Ambidextrous,” he said proudly.  
John nodded, pulling Sherlock’s arms around him tightly. “And you are so jealous of it,” he replied. “Though, actually Geoff, I’m left-handed.”  
Sherlock pouted. “Am not.”  
Mycroft smiled. “You’ve wanted to be ambidextrous since you were old enough to write. Of course you’re jealous.”  
Sherlock huffed and refused to respond, instead ducking his head kissing John’s shoulder.  
Geoff cleared his throat. “This was all very entertaining, but can one of you please explain to me what the hell is going on? I realize that I am standing in a room with two vampires and what seems to be a miniature superman, but I would like to know a little history, if you would be so kind,” John looked a bit insulted at being termed ‘miniature’ but he let it go.  
“What kind of history are you asking for here, Lestrade?”  
“Well, maybe something to explain how I didn’t notice that I had a vampire working with me for the past six years. Or maybe you could explain what the hell your…what did you call him? Your maker?... is doing in London.”  
“Asher is here?” Mycroft asked, sharply.  
Sherlock nodded. “He was. Sometime in the past few months he was here and neither of us realized it.”  
Mycroft pulled out his cell phone and sent a couple quick texts. As he waited for the replies, he gathered his coat and umbrella. “I really must be going. Thank you for the exercise, John. It was fun.”  
John grinned, nodding. “Maybe next time we could go someplace bigger.”  
Mycroft blinked, then smiled. “I would like that.” With that he was gone, the front door shutting softly behind him.  
Sherlock sighed, shaking his head. “You are out of your mind, John. He could have killed you and you want to do it again?”  
“If he would have killed me, you would have killed him,” John replied with a shrug.  
There was silence for a minute, then a very quiet response. “I would have died trying.”  
John whirled around to face his lover, confusion written all over his face. “What do you mean?”  
It was Sherlock’s turn to smile a bit sadly at John. “Mycroft has always been stronger than me, John. The only things I am better at are music and intelligence.” He paused, sitting down on the arm of the chair closest to him. “I know how to fight. I know where to hit to kill, or to disable. I know it all up here,” he gestured to his head. “But… I am physically weaker than him. Faster, yes. But weaker.”  
“He was going easy on me wasn’t he?” John asked, flopping himself down on the couch as Sherlock did so often.  
“Of course he was. Just because he’s stronger doesn’t mean I wouldn’t find a way to kill him.”  
Geoff frowned. “Oi. You shouldn’t be talking about murder with a cop in the room, you know.” He looked at John. “And why do you sound so casual with him killing someone for you?”  
John let out a surprised laugh. “Sherlock, did you not tell him about the night we first went on a case together?”  
Sherlock managed to look completely innocent. “What could you possibly be talking about, John? Are you referring to the chase through London – on foot- after a cab? Or the cab race to get to me? Or that you got there and chose the wrong building?” Sherlock’s voice was more amused with each question. The next one however, had a very affectionate tone to it. “Or that you shot the cabbie for me, killed him for me?”  
Lestrade blinked in surprise. “That was you?”  
John nodded, still smiling. “I thought I needed to save him, and training kicked in, like it did tonight.”  
Geoff narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what type of training did you get exactly?”  
Even Sherlock looked at John, waiting for an answer as he let himself fall backward in the chair, more of his body hanging off of it than actually in it.  
“You haven’t figured it out yet, Sherlock?”  
Sherlock glared and him and shook his head. “This is the first time I’ve seen you fight.”  
John looked surprised. “Oh. I hadn’t realized that.”  
Lestrade sighed, went and sat in the other chair, and waited, arms still crossed.  
John smiled and closed his eyes. “Well…let’s start like this… How old do you think I am?”  
Sherlock responded immediately. “Late thirties.”  
“Alright. Geoff? How old do I look to you?”  
Lestrade cleared his throat, never having been good with guessing ages. “Um, I’d say around forty.”  
John laughed. “I was born in 1984.”  
Less than a second later Sherlock’s eyes went wide. “You’re only-“  
It took Lestrade a minute to count. “27?!”  
John nodded. “Don’t look it, do I? There’s a reason for that. I’ll save it for another time though.”  
Sherlock looked like he wanted to protest, but he subsided, knowing he’d get it out of him later.  
“Next is…well…” John hesitated, looking over at Sherlock, worry on his face. “I wasn’t just in Afghanistan. That was just the last place I was stationed before I was shot.” He hesitated again, beginning to look agitated as he swung his legs round and sat up. Rubbing his hands over his head, he stood. “I’ll be right back. I need to get something.”


	12. Chapter 12

Five minutes later, John came back downstairs carrying a wooden box that Sherlock had never seen before. It was oak and looked pretty old judging by the scuff marks and the fact that the corners had been rubbed down to curves.  
John glanced at Sherlock. “And yes it was passed down Sherlock. It was my fathers.”  
He sat it on the table in front of the couch and beckoned the two men over, Sherlock at his side in an instant, arm going around his waist. Lestrade rose more slowly and sat next to John, elbows on his knees.  
John slowly opened the case, revealing a red velvet interior. There were knives in the box, old ones, and John ran a hand over them reverently.  
“Where are those from?” Geoff asked, pointing at the set of daggers in the left corner.  
John smiled. “Japan,” he answered. “But these aren’t what I was going to show you.” He lifted the interior out, revealing a set of medals. Some were obviously his, some were older, his fathers. Underneath the medals was an official looking paper, folded neatly. John picked it up and unfolded it, laying it on the table for the two men to see.  
It was a list of all the places John had been trained. The first place on the list was America. Next to it someone had written ‘FBI’ in careful handwriting. Further down the list was Japan, Korea, Africa, and even South America, all with the names of the departments he had trained in written next to them. If there wasn’t a department, there was a specialty. Like South America. Next to it was ‘survival tactics’. Next to Korea was ‘martial arts’. Africa was ‘hunting’, Japan was ‘Yakuza’.  
Sherlock was reading down the list with increasing worry written in his features. “You trained at all these places?”  
John nodded sharply, not looking at him. “Yes.”  
Geoff frowned. “John…” he started slowly, not really wanting to know the answer to his next question. “How old were you when you started training?”  
Sherlock recoiled in shock, eyes flickering as data sorted itself. “He was 12,” he responded, a look of horror on his face.  
John’s face was carved from stone as he stood, walking over to the window and staring out of it. “Yes. My father started my training in America when I was 12, beginning with unarmed combat, then moving to fist weapons and blades.”  
Sherlock was staring at John’s back, unable to believe what he was hearing. He closed his eyes and asked another question. “When did you go to South America, John?” He paused, dreading the next part of the question. “And why?”  
“Knew you’d figure it out Sherlock. Too smart for your own good.”  
Sherlock dropped his face into his hands. “Oh god…you were just a kid…”  
John snorted. “Hardly a kid, Sherlock. I had already killed more people than I could count.”  
Sherlock stood up angrily. “That is hardly the point, John! They sent you in there to be-“ He stopped, willing himself to be calm.  
John turned to face them, expression furious. “I know what happened, Sherlock! I was there remember? I was there when they told me to go let myself be raped so they could get closer. I was there when they forgot to come back for me. I had to fuck my way out of there, Sherlock. Do you understand that?” John started pacing, trying to reign in his fury, the tension singing through him. “Do you understand what I had to do to get back home? Just to be sent off to Japan to be trained more?” The last word was shouted as John turned, slamming his fist into the doorframe he happened to be next to, cracking the wood. He stood there breathing heavily for a minute before he turned back to face them, all emotion gone. “You wanted to know how much training I’ve had. Does that answer your question?” His voice was empty, just like his eyes. John Watson wasn’t home.  
Sherlock made to move toward his lover but John shot a look at him that would have sent lesser men running. “Don’t,” he said coldly. “Like you said to me last night, I don’t want to hurt you.”  
John looked at Geoff, who hadn’t said anything, too busy trying to absorb the fact that this man, this gentle saint of a doctor, was a trained killer. That he probably had more training than most of Mycroft Holmes’ men put together.  
“Lestrade? I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I need you to leave now. One of us will call you tomorrow.”  
Geoff didn’t speak, just nodded and stood, grabbing his coat and walking out the door.

When Lestrade had closed the door to the flat behind him, John let a sliver of the tension he was feeling fade away, sending a faint tremor through his arms. He drew a deep breath and slid his eyes closed.  
“Sherlock, don’t make any sudden movements please. Mycroft wasn’t the only one holding back tonight,” another shudder ripped through his body as he fought instinct, trying to keep the violence that was just under his skin contained.  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, watching his lover struggle with himself. “John, I can help you. We can take a lot more damage than you think. I could-“  
“No!” John shouted, not opening his eyes. “I can’t. Not with you.”  
“Mycroft then,” Sherlock said quickly, not wanting to agitate his lover any more than he already was. Pulling out his cell he made a call, taking John’s jerky nod as a good sign.  
“Mycroft, the appointment for your rematch with John has been moved up ahead of schedule.”  
“What are you talking about, Sherlock? Why would he do that?”  
“Trust me on this, Mycroft. If it’s not you it will be me, because I will not let him out of this flat.”  
John had started pacing again, muttering to himself. He kept shooting glances at Sherlock, as if to make sure he was still there.  
“What’s wrong with him, Sherlock? What did you do?”  
“Just brought some things to the surface all at once that I shouldn’t have,” he replied quietly. “Please, Mycroft. Come get us. And have the gym ready with medical on standby.” With that he disconnected the call, knowing his brother would understand his meaning.  
“Sherlock?” John voice was strained. “I can channel it for a short time, but I need you to trust me and do not touch me unless I tell you to okay?”  
“Anything, John,” Sherlock replied and John walked over to him, violence in every movement. As Sherlock watched, that violence shifted, gaining a predatory edge. He stood completely still and let John circle him.  
“Unbutton your shirt,” John told him, voice husky.  
Sherlock complied, fingers fumbling in his haste.  
When he was finished, John halted in front of him, eyes on his chest. He raised a hand and let it slide up Sherlock’s stomach, over his ribs, and up around his neck. John pulled his head down, fingers gripped almost painfully in curly hair. “Kiss me, Sherlock,” he whispered right before their mouths met. “Kiss me but don’t move your body.”  
Their lips met and Sherlock was lost. John ate at his mouth like a starving man, teeth and tongue forcing Sherlock’s mouth open. The kiss was hot and filthy and exactly what Sherlock wanted at that moment, his eyes bleeding gold as he moaned deep in his chest, his hands fisting, nails biting into his palms as resisted the urge to touch, to take.  
John pulled back slowly, eyes half-lidded. He released his grip on Sherlock’s hair and took his undershirt off, letting it fall to the floor as Sherlock watched. John brought his hands up again, gentler this time, pulling his head down, past his mouth, pressing Sherlock’s mouth against his neck. “Bite, Sherlock. You can touch me.”  
As soon as the last word left John’s lips, Sherlock had the fingers of one hand in blonde hair, the other hand grabbing John’s hip, pulling him closer. He sank his teeth in harshly, too aroused to care about the trail of blood it let run down John’s chest. He could feel John’s hands tugging his shirt off, movements quick and efficient.  
Bracing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders, John nipped a path up the pale neck, then back down, ending where neck met shoulder. Suddenly he bit down hard, Sherlock’s head jerking back as his hands convulsed. “Oh fuck…” he moaned, panting as John bit harder, teeth breaking skin, allowing him to taste Sherlock’s blood again. He was quickly finding it quite addictive.  
“Yes…oh god yes…” Sherlock groaned, fingers sliding through John’s hair as he let his eyes close.  
There was a noise and a sense of movement behind John that had him opening his eyes and ducking before he even knew why.  
Sherlock caught the punch that had been aimed at John right in the cheek. He stumbled and saw John launch himself out of his crouched position at Mycroft, who stood in the doorway now, head cocked to the side. “John!”  
John didn’t pause, still going after Mycroft. Sherlock grit his teeth and moved, putting himself in between lover and brother. His confidence waned a little when he saw John’s eyes; again there wasn’t really anyone there to talk to.  
Those eyes flickered now, a ghost of the old John sliding through them before it disappeared. “Move,” the smaller man growled, gaze now on Sherlock.  
The voice sent a shiver of fear through the dark-haired man, and he lowered his head. “John, please,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.  
“He hit you,” John hissed, cupping Sherlock’s cheek, the violence still there but it was being pushed back slowly. “He hurt you.”  
Sherlock shook his head. “No. It didn’t hurt, John. Just surprised me is all.”  
Sherlock saw Mycroft circling around behind John, a syringe in hand. “John… Kiss me?”  
John made a soft sound and knelt in front of him, both hands on his face now as he nodded. He kissed Sherlock gently, tenderly, trying to express his feelings in this one touch. He jerked suddenly, hand flashing back and grabbing Mycroft’s wrist. The other vampire hadn’t had a chance to push the plunger yet and he hesitated, looking at Sherlock. “Small dose,” he said calmly, talking to both men on the floor.  
John’s eyes slid closed again as a tremor shook him. “How long?” he asked, his own thumb hovering over the plunger.  
Mycroft paused, then let go of the needle, John’s grip on it not faltering. “Twenty minutes at most. Fifteen at least.”  
John let out a shuddering breath and pushed the plunger down. He swayed as he pulled the needle out of his neck, dropping it to the floor as his arms fell to his sides limply.  
“Sherlock…” his voice was quiet as he fought unconsciousness. “I’m sorry, love…didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said brushing a hand over Sherlock’s neck where he had bitten him.  
Sherlock smiled and caught John as he finally blacked out, smoothing the younger man’s hair back from his forehead. “Definitely doing that again later.”  
Mycroft frown, staring at John’s back. “Sherlock?”  
Sherlock hummed, still holding his lover against him as he stood up.  
“Did you know that John had a tattoo?”  
Sherlock blinked and craned his neck, peering over a tanned shoulder. “Where?”  
Mycroft pointed at John’s lower back, “right next to his spine.” He propped his umbrella against the chair. “Here, I’ll take him. Get a shirt on and grab a change of clothes for you both.”  
Sherlock slowly passed John to Mycroft. “Let’s hope he doesn’t wake up with you holding him.”  
“He won’t.”


	13. Chapter 13

More violence…more blood…John feeling guilty…etc, etc.

 

They made it to Mycroft’s estate in record time, breaking several traffic laws in the process. Just as they pulled into the driveway, John started to wake up, body tensing.  
Mycroft and Sherlock looked at him, then at each other. “I will meet you there, now go, quickly,” Mycroft said. “And tell everyone to be out of sight. I want no accidents.”  
Sherlock nodded and disappeared.  
Mycroft watched him go for a moment, then got out to lean against the side of the car. “John, I know you’re awake.”  
Cold hazel eyes slid open as John sat up, carefully climbing out of the car on the opposite side. “Where did you send him?”  
“Somewhere safely away from you,” Mycroft said, a smile on his face. “You will see him soon.”  
Mycroft took a step away from the car, John mirroring his every move. “I believe you wanted to continue our little…discussion…in a slightly larger area?”  
John nodded, sliding a hand into his pocket, gripping the handle of one of his throwing knives. Mycroft smiled. “Not out here, John. Too many innocents.” That said, Mycroft turned and ran, outline a blur.  
John narrowed his eyes, withdrew his hand, and threw. As soon as the blade left his hand he followed the vampire, the sharp smell of blood telling him his aim was still as good as ever.

Sherlock paced on the balcony of the gymnasium, waiting for his brother to bring John in. He stopped abruptly, smelling the air. Just then, the double doors flew open as Mycroft raced through them, hand clutching his shoulder, John hot on his heels.  
Sherlock did something he hadn’t tried to do in years, opening his mind, reaching for his brother. /Mycroft?/  
Mycroft glanced up at him, John following his gaze, a small fraction of his tension leaking out of him. /Yes?/  
Sherlock frowned in concentration. /What did you do to piss him off so quickly?/  
Mycroft smirked the famous Holmes’ smirk. /Told him you weren’t safe with him./  
/Why the hell would you do something so stupid?! He’s my mate, Mycroft. I know you don’t have one yet so you don’t understand, but he will protect me until his dying breath if he has to./  
/I know./ Mycroft watched John take in his surroundings, all the blades and other weapons on their stands against the walls. /It got him here though, didn’t it?/  
/Mycroft you don’t understand. He’s had more combat training than most of your men combined. You remember the child that was sent to South America for the American government? The child that killed half the people in there on his way out?/  
Mycroft looked at Sherlock’s stricken face, then back over to John, realization dawning a second too late. John was already moving, darting over to the wall and grabbing one of the swords, then rushing the stunned vampire.  
/Move! He will kill you if he can, brother!/ Sherlock ‘shouted’, knuckles white where his fingers gripped the railing.  
Mycroft moved, the blade just catching the fabric of his shirt as he rolled away. Getting back to his feet, he picked up a sword as well. “Do you really know how to fight with these, John? Or are you just going to flail about like most people do?”  
Sherlock groaned. /Don’t bait him, you moron./  
Mycroft shot a smile at him. /But it’s fun./  
John glared at him and spoke, voice low. “That’s not my name right now Holmes. And yes, I know how to use it. Do you?” with that, he lunged, blade blurring.  
/Not his-/ Mycroft sounded confused. /Not his name? What is he talking about, Sherlock?/  
Sherlock shook his head. /I don’t know. A codename, maybe?/  
Mycroft blocked the next attack, the blades locked together long enough for him to ask, “what are you talking about?”  
John smiled and it was not friendly. “They gave me a new name while I was in Japan. They said it suited me better, especially after they had my friends killed.”  
Mycroft broke away. “And what did they call you?”  
Something dark slid through John’s eyes, an endless hatred. His voice was a whisper when he answered. “Ikari.”  
/Sherlock?/ Mycroft asked, circling with the blonde slowly. /My Japanese is a little rusty, care to tell me what Ikari means?/  
Even through their mental link, Sherlock’s voice sounded weak. /Wrath. It means wrath./  
/Why do you sound so worried, Sherlock? Tell me what to expect here, he’s your friend./  
Sherlock shook his head slowly, knowing Mycroft could see him. /That’s not John anymore, Mycroft. That is the child that fought and fucked his way out of a South American trafficking ring, the child who was sent to Japan to train with the Yakuza. That’s the man that spent most of his childhood learning to fight, to kill./ Sherlock felt a tear slide down his cheek. /That’s not my John./  
Mycroft faltered in the face of his brother’s anguish, not seeing the blade that was coming at him until it was too late to move.  
In the moment before the blade would have gone through his heart, Sherlock was there, always faster than him, always smarter, able to see things before they happened. /How did you know he was your mate Sherlock? How did you know that you could trust him with us?/  
/His smell. Not his blood, though it was a large factor. His scent has always called to me./  
Mycroft smiled, dropping his blade and closing his eyes. /Guess I missed my chance then. Tell Geoff Lestrade that I wish we could have gotten to know each other better./  
/Tell him yourself./ And Sherlock was there, in front of him, the blade in John’s hands shoved deep in his stomach, pale fingers wrapped around it as it slid deeper, the point protruding from his back. Sherlock grunted with the force of the thrust, gripping the blade tighter. “John,” he said, dropping to his knees.  
John released the sword, humanity seeping back into his eyes. He blinked rapidly, as if waking from a dream. John looked down at his hands, at the blood that had slid down the sword. “Sherlock, what is going on?” He looked up and something in his face shattered. “Oh, god…”  
Sherlock pulled the blade out of his stomach slowly, dropping it to the floor with a clatter. John was at his side in the next instant, hand over the wound, slowing the bleeding. Sherlock brought his bloody hands up to cup John’s face, leaning his forehead against the other man’s. “I’m okay. I’m okay, John.”  
Mycroft stood behind his brother, hands on his shoulders. /You need to feed, brother. Losing that much blood can be dangerous to us as well./  
/I know. I just don’t want to rush it after this./ Sherlock responded, nuzzling his lover’s head. /He thought he’d killed me, Mycroft. Did you see his eyes? They changed color for a moment, turned a bright blue… I’ve never seen anything like it in a human./ Sherlock’s mental voice was getting weak, his words slurring.  
Mycroft walked around his brother quickly, pushing John back so he could get to Sherlock’s stomach. He tore his shirt open to look at the wound. It was still bleeding. “John he needs to feed. Now. He’s lost too much blood.”  
John looked at him quickly, a flash of panic on his face. Then it was gone and John pulled his shirt off, guiding Sherlock’s head toward his neck, hoping the other man was aware enough to feed himself. “Come on, Sherlock. Now is not the time to be stubborn,” he said, tangling his fingers in curly hair. John gave Sherlock’s shoulders a gentle shake when he got no response. “Sherlock?”  
Sherlock seemed to be unconscious though, and Mycroft cursed softly under his breath. “Lay him on his back, you’re going to have to force it into him.”  
John eased the other man onto his back gently. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, face even more pale than normal.  
“Give me your arm, John.” Mycroft said softly, holding out his hand.  
John held his arm out warily, not really trusting the other vampire.  
Mycroft grabbed him just above the wrist, pulling forward until it was just above Sherlock’s mouth. “Wrist hurts more, but it’s the only way we will be able to get him to drink. Ready?” Mycroft asked.  
John nodded and braced himself, hissing at the sharp stab of pain, so different that when Sherlock bit him. Forcing his brother’s mouth open, Mycroft brought John’s wrist closer, letting the blood drip into it. Almost as a reflex, Sherlock swallowed. A few seconds later, pale hands came up and gripped John’s wrist as the mouth latched on, drinking deeply.  
John winced as his skin was torn, but he didn’t try to stop his lover. It was his fault that Sherlock was like this, so he would pay the price. He brought a hand up and stroked curly locks back from Sherlock’s forehead. Bronze eyes slid open and locked on his own, the heat in them enough to send John’s heart racing.  
Sherlock drew away slowly but he didn’t release his grip on John’s wrist, pulling the younger man toward him for a kiss.  
Sherlock’s hand had pulled John off-balance and he fell into the vampire, knocking him back onto the mats on the floor. “Sherlock, wait. You-” John’s protests were cut off by another kiss, this one deeper, bruising, punishing.  
John is starting to get a bit worried now, the man in his arms still not responding to him. He shot a look to Mycroft, the other man frowning, eyes slightly glazed as if deep in thought.  
/Sherlock?/  
The response, when he finally gets one, is animalistic, more primal than he has ever heard his brother. /Mine. He’s mine, you can’t have him, he’s mine./  
/I know he’s yours Sherlock. I’m not trying to take him from you, but do you really want to fuck him on the gym floor?/  
The other vampire snarled, pulling his mouth away from John enough to glare at his brother. “Mine,” Sherlock growled, arms tightening painfully around his mate.  
John made a small sound of pain, a quickly indrawn breath, and it drew Sherlock’s attention, the pale man leaning back into John. “Let’s take this to a more private place, Sherlock. Okay? Can we do that ?” John asked, voice soft, hands cupping Sherlock’s face.  
Blinking, the vampire stood, bringing John with him. /Bedroom?/ Sherlock’s ‘voice’ was becoming more normal as his mates blood brought him back to himself, and Mycroft let out a small sigh of relief.  
/Left in the hall, all the way down, first door on the left. Bathroom is across the hall./  
Sherlock nodded and lifted John, carrying much the same way he had the previous night, the smaller man’s legs wrapped around his waist. John looked at him over Sherlock’s shoulder and he gave a small nod, he’s fine, and then they were out the door.

 

Next chapter is more smut, so if you don’t wanna read it, skip it


	14. Chapter 14

*waves red flags* Smut! Here there be smut! And I promise there will be actual plot at some point…just trying to work up to it. Please be patient.

 

John didn’t really remember the trip to the bedroom, only the fact that they were moving. Sherlock’s hands were roving over his body, tugging at his jeans, cupping his arse, sliding up his back. John shivered when Sherlock growled in his ear, “mine.”  
The doctor nods quickly. “Yours, yes. Yours, always. Forever.” John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the scent of his lover as the other man’s fingers kneaded his arse cheeks, the pressure sending shocks of pleasure through him.  
John moaned when he was lowered onto a queen-sized bed, his fingers clenching in Sherlock’s curls as his lover kissed his way down a tan neck, wet open-mouthed kisses with hints of fang in each one. “Please, Sherlock…Stop teasing and do it already…please…”  
Complying, Sherlock sank his teeth into John’s neck, his throat working as his fingers slid down his lover’s trembling body, undoing too-tight jeans, pushing the offending material over narrow hips, down around toned thighs.  
Sherlock released his lover’s neck, kissing his way down John’s chest, flicking his tongue over dusky nipples, laving kisses over hardened abs, tongue- fucking John’s navel as the other man moaned. He pushed his nose into the coarse hair at the base of John’s cock, his scent so much stronger here, making John whimper, his hips thrusting. Sherlock licked from base to tip, tongue curling around the head, lips sealing around, cheeks hallowing. Hands on hips, not holding, just controlling. He did this just long enough for John to start bucking his hips, calloused fingers gripping his hair tightly as he fucked the vampire’s mouth.  
Sherlock pulled away, soothing John instinctive cry, and turned his lover over, urging him to his hands and knees. John’s head dropped to the mattress when Sherlock started kissing down his back, tongue tracing his spine, pausing over the small tattoo just above John’s left buttock, a Japanese symbol. Tsumi. Sin. He kissed the word gently, forgiving. He kissed lower, John shivering above him, arms and thighs trembling badly now, face a bright pink as he realized what Sherlock was going to do.  
Long, pale fingers spread John apart, tongue flickering over areas never before having received such attention. He circled John’s entrance, listening to his lover as he whined low in his throat, his hands fisted in the sheets, eyes tightly closed. As John squirmed, Sherlock realized something important. No one had ever been inside this man, no one that hadn’t meant him harm. He had never been taken willingly. Sherlock rubbed soothing circles over a tense back as he pushed, sliding past resisting muscle. He fucked John with his tongue, the other man’s memories fading with every thrust of a gentle tongue. Soon he was panting, thrusting back against Sherlock, pleading for more.  
Sherlock pulled away long enough to grab the lotion that was sitting on the bedside table, coating his fingers. Sliding one slowly down the cleft of John’s arse, circling the entrance then pushing in slowly, wary of his lover’s past.  
Glancing up at John’s face, Sherlock saw him trying to say something. Moving closer, he finally heard him. “Let me turn over, Sherlock. Please. I need to be able to see you.”  
Sherlock backed off enough for John to move, allowing him to settle on his back. “Okay?” he asked, kissing along John’s jaw.  
John nodded, hands sliding up and down Sherlock’s back. “Just need to know it’s you. It was okay when you were kissing, they never did that. But they did use fingers.” He pulled Sherlock’s head up to his, kissing him deeply. “Keep going.”  
Sherlock slid his hand back down John’s chest, down until his fingers found John’s entrance again, one sliding in, then two when no resistance was offered.  
John moaned, tilting his head back as he thrust his hips with the movement of Sherlock’s fingers. “More,” he breathed, leaning up to kiss and nip Sherlock’s neck. He groaned deep in his chest at the third finger, hips slowing but not stopping. “Ready. Now, Sherlock.”  
Sherlock sat back on his heels, slicking himself while John watched, spreading his legs further. Lining himself up, Sherlock pushed, slowly, letting John adjust to him.  
“Ung…god, Sherlock…so good,” John moaned, tilting his hips, letting the other man slide further in. He wrapped his legs around a pale waist, nails digging into his mate’s shoulders. “Move.”  
Again, Sherlock complied, thrusts long and slow, driving John mad. The vampire groaned when John bit into his neck, blood flowing easily. He wrapped his arms around his lover and sat back, John now resting in his lap.  
John gasped at the new angle, throwing his head back. “Fuck!” he exclaimed as he began riding Sherlock, nails digging into strong shoulders.  
By this point, Sherlock was trembling, fighting the urge to pound into his lover. “John…god, John, I want to…” he tightened his grip on John’s hips, bruising the flesh there. When John leaned into him, voice whispering along his collarbone, “then do it”, Sherlock growled, teeth sinking into John’s neck as he thrust into him, hard.  
John gasped, then moaned, loud and long, pleasure singing through his veins as his lover pounded into him. Sherlock tilted his hips a fraction and thrust again and John saw stars, breath coming out in a low wail, nails dragging up Sherlock’s back, leaving bloody trails in their wake. “Again!” he cried, back arching as Sherlock did it again, harder, deeper somehow. Just a few more thrusts like that and John was coming, smothering a scream in Sherlock’s shoulder, the vampire groaning as John clenched around him, pushing him over the edge.  
John sat there panting, his forehead pressed to Sherlock’s collarbone as he tried to catch his breath. Sherlock was smoothing his hands over a tanned back, his own breathing still stuttering occasionally. The dark haired man kissed John’s shoulder gently. “I love you,” he said quietly, hugging the doctor to him.  
John smiled, leaning back, running his hands through Sherlock’s sweaty locks. “I love you, too, Sherlock,” he told him, leaning in for a kiss. “But my knees are locking up. I think it’ll take more than two days of drinking from you to get rid of the arthritis.”  
Sherlock chuckled and let his arms drop as John slowly straightened his legs. “Other than your legs, are you okay?”  
John looked at him sideways, smirking a bit. “More than okay. That was brilliant, Sherlock. I loved every second of it.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter is quite a bit longer than the others. I just couldn’t find a good spot to stop at.  
>  In this chapter Geoff and Anthea make appearances and a couple things are (kind of) explained. Next chapter is mostly about John and what pissed him off this time. (you’ll see what I mean.)

 

The next morning the two men wandered around, looking for the kitchen for John’s breakfast, Sherlock seeming to know where he was going even without having been here before.  
“How do you do that so easily?” John asked, shaking his head with a smile on his face.  
Sherlock looked at him, confused. “Do what so easily?”  
“Find things.”  
“I can smell the food. Bacon, eggs, some ham as well,” he responded, continuing down the hall.  
John followed quickly, stomach growling. “Will I be able to do that?”  
Sherlock nodded, turning a corner and opening a door. The smell had John’s mouth watering, drawing him forward to sit at the large table, a plate already waiting for him. “Oh my god, can I steal his cook?” John asked, shoving a slice of bacon into his mouth and groaning.  
Said cook came around the corner, and John choked on a forkful of eggs. “Anthea?!”  
The woman looked up at him. “Oh. Hello, John.”  
John blinked a couple times, not believing his eyes. “You are Mycroft’s cook?”  
She smiled at him. “Mr. Holmes doesn’t need a cook, you know that. He asked me to make a quick breakfast for you, that’s all.”  
John looked at her closely. “Do you…Did you already eat then?”  
She laughed. “Yes, John. I stopped at a café on the way in this morning.”  
“She’s not a vampire, John,” Sherlock said, not looking up from his phone, fingers flying over the keypad. “And she’s not Mycroft’s mate, no matter how much she wishes she was.”  
Anthea’s face turned red. “I do not!”  
Sherlock smirked at her knowingly. “You really think you can hide something like attraction from a pair of vampires?”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Holmes.”  
Sherlock let out a small huff of laughter and went back to his phone. “Well, you don’t need to worry anymore anyway. My brother has found his mate.”  
“He has?” John asked, looking over at his lover with a frown. “Who is it?”  
Sherlock finished with his texts and pocketed his phone. Standing up, he straightened his jacket. “That is for him to tell.”

After breakfast, John and Sherlock continued to explore, ending up in the library. Mycroft was there, going over some paperwork. “Good morning brother, John. I trust you both slept well.”  
John felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he nodded. “Yes, thank you.”  
Sherlock hummed his agreement, sitting himself in a chair, fingers under his chin in thought. “What have you found out about Asher, Mycroft? I know you’ve been keeping your eye on him all these years.”  
Mycroft sighed and set his pen down. “We lost him about three years ago in Northern Europe. We’ve had a few reports of sightings in and around London, but nothing concrete.”  
“Three years and you didn’t tell me,” Sherlock said, voice low and dangerous.  
Mycroft frowned at his brother. “Don’t be like that Sherlock. You know I don’t tell you everything.”  
“Yes, and we know how much good that does you,” Sherlock replied viciously.  
John sighed and shook his head tiredly. “Please don’t tell me you two have been like this for the past four hundred years. If you have I’m surprised London is still standing.”  
Mycroft smiled. “Would you believe we used to be the best of friends?”  
John laughed. “Somehow, I just don’t see it.” He looked over at Sherlock, but the other man had his eyes closed, head leaning against the back of the chair.  
“Moving on,” Sherlock said suddenly, standing up and beginning to pace the room. “Where was your last sighting of Asher?”  
Mycroft cleared his throat and looked away. “Baker Street.”  
Sherlock stopped pacing and faced his brother. “What did you say?” he asked quietly.  
“You heard me, Sherlock. The last report we have has him outside your flat.”  
John looked between the two of them, trying to read their expressions. “This is a bad thing, yes?” he asked.  
Sherlock gave him his usual ‘don’t be stupid’ look and John held his hands up in surrender. “You’ve told me nothing about him, Sherlock. How am I supposed to know what kind of person this guy is?”  
Mycroft actually looked surprised by this. “You never told him about Asher?”  
“There was no reason to when I didn’t think he was in the area,” Sherlock said, sitting back down and rubbing his hands over his face.  
The conversation was interrupted by a beep from Sherlock’s phone signaling an incoming text. The dark haired man read through it quickly and sighed. “Lestrade wants to speak to us. He wants any and all information I can give him on Asher. He’s on his way here now.”  
“Might as well get the history lesson all out at once then. Did he say how long before he gets here?” John asked, leaning against one of the many bookshelves lining the walls.  
“Less than twenty minutes,” Sherlock replied.  
Mycroft pulled his phone out and sent a quick text. “Anthea will meet him at the door and bring him to us.”  
Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes. John walked over to him and sat on the arm of his chair, laying an arm over the back of it. The vampire wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him down into his lap, resting his chin on the doctor’s shoulder.  
“So. Sherlock tells me you’ve found your mate,” John said, wiggling down in Sherlock’s lap until he was sitting in between the other man’s legs. “Care to fill me in?”  
Mycroft looked at Sherlock, then at John. “Did he?”  
John nodded, leveling a steady gaze at the elder Holmes brother.  
“It’s true that I have found my mate,” Mycroft said, standing up and pulling a couple books from the shelves. He flipped through the pages quickly then reshelved them. “But he doesn’t know and I am in no hurry to tell him.”  
“Him?” John asked, a bit surprised.  
“Yes, him. Last time I checked, Geoff Lestrade was in fact a male.”  
John opened his mouth to say more and was interrupted by a knock on the door. A second later it opened, revealing Anthea and the detective in question.  
“Sir,” Anthea said, nodding at Mycroft. She walked over to him, standing slightly behind him as she started texting, eyes glued to the screen.  
“Perfect timing, Lestrade. We were just talking about you,” Sherlock said, smiling when his brother shot him a glare.  
The gray-haired man’s eyebrows rose. “Were you, now? Nothing bad I hope,” he said, sitting in the last armchair.  
John laughed. “Not bad, per say. Just talking about when you said it would be nice to be able to use vampire blood.” That got a chuckle out of both of the other men in the room, though Lestrade only looked more confused.  
Anthea looked up, surprise on her face. “Him?”  
Sherlock nodded and Mycroft scowled. “Yup,” John said, smiling brightly at Geoff.  
/Why don’t you want him to know?/ Sherlock asked his brother silently.  
/Have you seen yourself brother? You can’t stand to be away from John for more than a few minutes at a time. I have things I need to do. Sometimes I need to be on the road for days on end. I can’t have someone with me at all times./  
/Anthea is with you at all times. What would be different?/ Sherlock was frowning now and the room had gone silent as they looked between the two of them as they stared at each other. Even Anthea had lowered her Blackberry and was frowning at them.  
/Because he’s a man, Sherlock. She is my secretary. I highly doubt that he would be able to travel with me as well, seeing as he’s an Inspector and all./  
Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, forgetting about the others in the room. /I wouldn’t worry about that too much Mycroft. Lestrade is very flexible when it comes to a work schedule. Besides, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind./ Sherlock paused, looking over at Geoff, then back at his brother. /He likes you./  
Mycroft glanced at the other man quickly. /Does he? Or are you just trying to provoke me?/  
Sherlock’s lips curved into a small smile. /It’s true. That’s part of the reason he’s here. He wanted to see you again. He even asked about you when he texted me earlier./  
Mycroft could feel heat in his cheeks and hated himself for it. He narrowed his eyes at his brother, his ‘voice’ a growl. /You had better not be lying to me, Sherlock./  
The others in the room were still looking back and forth between the two, though John now had a thoughtful frown on his face “Sherlock?”  
Sherlock blinked and looked at John, eyes finally focusing. “Yes?”  
John crossed his arms over his chest. “Care to tell us what you and Mycroft are discussing?”  
“We didn’t say anything, John,” Sherlock said evasively, refusing to look at him.  
“I realize that, Sherlock.” John slid to the floor in front of his lover, hands cupping pale cheeks, forcing Sherlock to look at him. John’s forehead creased in thought and he rested his head against Sherlock’s. /You can hear me can’t you?/ as he said this, John could see Sherlock’s eyes lose focus.  
Sherlock sighed and looked away. /Yes./  
John looked surprised for a moment, then frowned. /Have you always been able to hear me?/  
/It’s like…it’s a bit like listening to static. It’s all just whispers, all blending together until it’s just background noise. Like having the television on in a different room. Unless I focus on one particular voice, or if the other person focuses their own voice, it’s all just a murmur./ Sherlock was frowning, trying to find the best description. /It’s like being in the middle of a large crowd of people, you can’t hear any one person unless they talk louder or you are listening for their voice./  
John nodded. /Okay…Have you tested the range of it? Like how close you have to be to someone to be able to hear them?/  
Sherlock thought about that for a moment, then looked over to Mycroft. /What would you say my range is, Mycroft?/  
/As far as I know you have no range. I don’t know if that’s because we’re family though./  
John looked surprised again, this time looking at Mycroft. /I heard that./  
/Yes. I can create a…link of sorts. If I concentrate enough I can connect peoples thoughts through my own, allowing them to be able to speak to each other./ Sherlock told John, drawing him up into his lap again.  
/Well, that could be useful./  
Mycroft let out a short bark of laughter, startling Anthea and Lestrade with the sudden sound. /Yes, it could be. You never told me you could do that, Sherlock./  
/You never asked./ was Sherlock’s reply.  
“Um…I don’t mean to barge in but what the hell is going on here?” Geoff asked.  
Sherlock looked at him, debating on the truth or a lie. “I’m a telepath,” he said eventually.  
Geoff snorted. “Yeah, pull the other one.”  
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the other man. “You think I’m lying?”  
“Come on, Sherlock. You can’t expect me to believe that. I know you’re good, but calling yourself a telepath is a bit much. Even for you.”  
Sherlock’s eyes bled gold as they slid shut, forehead creased in concentration. He made a small sound and suddenly both Geoff and Anthea were there, thoughts loud and clear.  
Geoff jumped out of his chair like a startled cat, cursing loud and long. /What’s next then? Are you going to tell me Mycroft can see the future? Or that John can move things without touching them?/  
/Telekinesis./ Mycroft’s ‘voice’ was amused at the detective’s reaction.  
Geoff paused in his rant. “What?”  
“It’s called telekinesis. The ability to move things with only your mind,” John said, trying to draw himself out of the ‘link’ Sherlock had created.  
With a shudder, the connection faded and Sherlock sat back in his chair as if worn out.  
“Sherlock?” Mycroft said, looking at his brother with concern.  
“’M fine, Mycroft. Just a headache,” he replied, waving him off.  
“Then why is your nose bleeding?”  
“What?” Sherlock wiped a hand under his nose. “Oh. Out of practice I suppose.” He looked at John. “Though it didn’t help when one of you were fighting me.”  
John looked down at his lap. “I’m sorry. There are just some things I would rather keep to myself. Some of the things in my head could get people killed.”  
“That’s not what you’re worried about though. What are you hiding from me?” Sherlock asked, eyes beginning to lose focus again. He gasped suddenly and clapped his hands to his temples.  
John stood up and started pacing angrily. “Just because you can rifle through people’s thoughts doesn’t give you permission, Sherlock. When I want you to know I will tell you.” He started muttering under his breath in what sounded like German, the guttural sounds making his voice sound even angrier.  
Sherlock was still holding his head, eyes shut tight in pain. “Where did you learn how to shield?”  
Mycroft looked at his brother, then at John. “And are you willing to teach me?”  
John stopped his pacing and glared at Mycroft. “Du hab-” He paused and took a deep breath. “You have no right to ask me to teach you anything.” He looked at Sherlock, who had finally lowered his hands and was staring at John, hurt in his eyes. “And you. If I catch you in my head again without permission, shields will be that last thing you have to worry about.” He turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  
Mycroft sighed and sat back in his chair. “Well, at least he didn’t go all crazy on us again. You really need to help him get that under control, Sherlock. Twice is enough for one week.”  
Sherlock glared at him, even as Geoff frowned. “Twice? What did I miss?”  
“Nothing, Lestrade,” Sherlock’s response was terse.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, kind of long. John goes crazy again. Geoff is a smartass.  
>  A few disclaimers for this one. Cookies if you can spot the reference to a certain anime and leave a review to tell me which one.  
>  Also, if there is anything you all would like me to try to fit into this just let me know, I will give it a shot. No promises though.

The silence was broken by a sudden high pitched beeping sound. Mycroft was out of his seat and at the door before Geoff recognized it as a fire alarm, Sherlock on his heels. Everyone but Anthea followed him to the gym, where the sound was originating from.  
John stood in the center of the room, hands clenched at his sides, eyes shut tightly. He seemed to be completely oblivious to their presence in the doorway. All around him there were patches of flames eating at the mat that lined the floor. As they watched, he opened his eyes, snarling something about how people had no right to invade his privacy and brought a hand up like he was going to throw something. A ball of flame was growing in his hand and he hurled it at the wall in front of him, his rant increasing in volume as he did so. The flame hit the wall and exploded, lighting that patch and the surrounding area on fire. He started pacing again, seeming to grow more agitated with every step he took.  
When he started incorporating his hands into his rant, his fingers caught fire, the flame climbing slowly up his arms. When this happened, he looked down at his hands and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Slowly he balled his hands into fists and when they were closed the flame was gone from the room, the only evidence of it left were the scorch marks on the mat and wall.  
“John…” The name was a breath it was so quiet, but the other man heard it, whirling around quickly to look at Sherlock, then at Mycroft and Lestrade, eyes wide. As he took in their expressions, John’s face closed down, becoming a mask.  
“Are you happy now Sherlock?” he asked, voice emotionless. “Are you happy now that you know what I was hiding? I told you it could get people killed. I wasn’t lying.” He held out a hand, palm up, as if to beckon his lover closer. When Sherlock moved to take it, it burst into flame. John looked down at it, expression unchanged as he turned his hand over, watching the flame dance around his fingers. Looking back up, his eyes were angry now. “Would you like to know my range, Sherlock?” he asked as he brought his other hand up. It, too, was on fire. “If I can see it, I can set it on fire. I don’t even have to touch it.” As he said the last, the wall to their left suddenly caught fire, causing them to step back quickly.  
“Did I tell you what they called me in Japan, Sherlock? Did I tell you why?” John’s eyes focused on Sherlock intently. “They called me Ikari because of what I can do. Have you ever seen one person with more than one gift, Mycroft?” The word ‘gift’ was spat out like a curse.  
Mycroft shook his head silently.  
“Now you have,” John said, smiling ironically.  
Sherlock frowned. “More than one? What do you mean more than one?”  
“What does more than one usually mean, Sherlock?” John replied, flames gone from his hands finally.  
John looked at Mycroft and smiled. “I hope the cameras in this place aren’t too hard to fix,” he said ominously and closed his eyes.  
There was a crackling sound and the lights started to flicker, drawing their attention away from John for a moment. When they looked back, he had his hands out, palms up. There were sparks dancing around his fingers, much like the flames from before. John brought his palms together slowly and the sparks grew. When his hands were just a few inches apart, the sparks had grown into miniature lightning, reminding Sherlock of something called Jacob ’s ladder.  
As the lightening danced up his arms, John walked forward slowly, eyes unfocused but staring at his hands. He came to a stop in front of the fuse box and reached out a hand.  
“John, don’t!” Geoff said, moving as if to stop him.  
John’s lips curved into a smile. “I’ll be fine. Just don’t touch me right after.”  
“After what, John?” Sherlock asked, quietly.  
“I’m going to show you one of the things a Spark can do, Sherlock. And why I didn’t want you to know,” John replied, his voice soft as he looked at his lover.  
John’s fingers touched the fuse box and his body jerked. Gritting his teeth, he looked at the far wall, raising his other hand. There was a sound like a thunderclap as the lights went out and a bolt of lightning shot from his hand, hitting the wall and cracking the cement as it dissipated.  
When the lights came back on, John was on the floor on his hands and knees, small sparks running all over his body. Sherlock went over to him, reaching out a hand touch him.  
“Don’t, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You remember what he said.”  
Even as Mycroft said this, a spark jumped from John’s body to Sherlock’s hand that was hovering over his head, causing him to jerk his hand back.  
“And that would be why,” John said, voice scratchy as he rolled onto his back. “God, that’s a rush. I’d forgotten.” His body shook as if he’d gotten a chill and the remainder of the sparks faded.  
“Forgotten?” Geoff said, walking over to him. “How many times have you done that?”  
John waved a hand dismissively as he sat up. “Like Sherlock said. Just out of practice.” He stood slowly and stumbled, giggling.  
“Are you okay, John?” Sherlock asked, wrapping an arm around John waist to steady him.  
John giggled again, and nodded. “Fine. Just shaky. You try having that much electricity in you and see how you feel.” He sobered a bit and frowned. “Actually that wasn’t as much as I was expecting. Do you have the house on different generators?” he asked Mycroft. John laid a hand over the cables running up from the fuse box and closed his eyes, nodding to himself. “You do. Smart man.”  
Mycroft frowned at him. “You can tell that just by touching one of the cables?”  
“Yes. I don’t have to use the electricity to be able to sense it. It’s like following a rope with your hands instead of your eyes. I can trace the lines all the way around this section without disturbing them. I can also draw that power out and use it as you just saw.” He smiled. “Played hell with the power in Moriarty’s van when he took me too. And he had no idea it was me. Stalled it four times.”  
“What else can you do with it? What else can you sense?” Geoff asked curiously.  
“Hm. Let’s see…” John frowned as he thought about it. “Well, there was one time I used one of the truck batteries to restart someone’s heart during the war. I can use it to short out just about anything that has even a hint of electricity in it. Hell, in South America I shut down the entire facility when I was leaving. They thought I had destroyed the generator. As for what I can sense? Anything you want to know I can find out if need be. The only thing I need to be able to use it is concentration.” He paused, looking down at his hands. “The fire is always there, right under the skin. It’s the electricity I have to think about.”  
Mycroft cleared his throat, drawing John’s attention to him. “How many Sparks exist, John?”  
John laughed, shaking his head. “Why, do you want one as a toy?”  
“No. I would just like to be able to protect against them.”  
John smiled again, but this time there was an edge to it that was not friendly. “You can’t protect against a Spark. Or a firebug, as my sister always called me. We don’t need to touch anything, don’t need to use anything to get it to work. It just does. Even locking us up doesn’t work. And to answer your question, two that I know of. And no, I’m not telling you who the other one is. Though I can tell you it’s not someone any of you know.”  
John looked sideways at Sherlock. /No, it’s not Harry./  
/I didn’t think it was./ his lover replied with a smile. Out loud he said, “What made you go off like that?”  
“You aren’t the first telepath I’ve run into, Sherlock,” he said quietly. “The other one…well, let’s just say he wasn’t very nice. Damn cocky, too, the German bastard.”  
“What kind of people did you work with, that you’ve met these types of powers before?”  
“Not relevant,” John said, walking over to the door and pushing it open. “I can see the question in your eyes, Sherlock, so I’ll answer as best I can. One of the teams I ran into had four people on it. Three with powers. There was the telepath, a telekinetic, and a precognitive. I’ve also seen the other Spark, a couple pyros, there was one who could project images into other people’s head, one that could erase memories, there were even a couple who could heal with only a touch. And as far as I know, I’m the only one that can act as a focus for any of those powers.”  
“You can act as a focus?” Mycroft asked, frowning.  
“Yes. Though only with touch. It doesn’t quite work otherwise.”  
John’s arm twitched and he frowned. “I feel I should let everyone know that there is a good chance I’m going to be doing that again in the near future. Letting that much loose at once has downsides.”  
“What kind of downsides?” Sherlock asked, reaching for John again, only to pull his hand back, feeling like he had just put his finger in an electrical outlet.  
“Those kind. If I continue to use it like that, the side effects will lessen.” John paused. “And sometimes I need to kind of…recharge, I guess.”  
“Oh, well that’s good then,” Geoff said sarcastically. “Best not to fry Sherlock’s poor phone, God knows it gets enough abuse as it is.”  
John’s laugh echoed down the hall as he walked out the door, the others close behind.


	17. Chapter 17

They ended up back in the library, Sherlock pacing the length of the walls as John dozed in a chair. Geoff and Mycroft were decidedly not looking at each other as they sat themselves at opposite ends of the table.  
/Sherlock, what all do you know about John’s past? / Mycroft asked, frown on his face.  
Sherlock glanced over at him. /What? Oh, just as much as he’s told us. Which is more than you I suppose? /  
/I would like you to ask him something for me. / Mycroft ‘said’, leaning back in the chair and folding his fingers in his lap.  
/And what would that be? /  
/I want to test him, see what all he can do with the electricity. /  
/And why can’t you ask him? /  
/Because I want to test you as well. With him as a focus, your range could be limitless. /  
/And with Asher around we are going to need all the help we can get. /  
Sherlock glanced over at John, who had woken up and was looking between him and his brother. /Care to let me in on the conversation? / He asked, voice slightly annoyed. /Since you are talking about me. /  
/And what makes you think we are talking about you? / Mycroft asked when Sherlock brought the other man into the conversation.  
/You both kept looking over at me. That’s usually a good tell. /  
Geoff sighed, knowing that the other three people were ‘talking’ again. “I think it would almost be better if you guys were speaking a different language or something rather than just shooting looks at each other, because that’s just annoying.”  
Sherlock huffed a laugh and brought Geoff into the link as well and it was easier this time, since he had been practicing. John scowled and started to pull away, shields rising.   
/Wait. / Sherlock said, walking over to him. He knelt down in front of the doctor, resting his hands on the other man’s knees. /Let me in, John. Please. Don’t hide from me. /  
John shook his head quickly. /If I let you in, I let them in. They’ve been looking for me, Sherlock. I wasn’t supposed to survive the war. /  
/Why? Why weren’t you supposed to live? Why did they want you to die out there? / Mycroft’s ‘voice’ was quiet and intense, his thoughts mirroring his brothers for a change.  
/The telepath I told you about, the German? / The others nodded. /He was the strongest I’d ever met until now. You have no idea how much you can do with your power, Sherlock. Anyway, he was able to access memories, turn them into a movie of sorts. Can you do that, Sherlock? /  
Sherlock frowned. /I’m not sure. I’ve never tried. /  
John leaned forward and cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands. /Try. / John looked over to Mycroft and Geoff. /I hope you have some aspirin around here; we’re going to need it. / He looked back at Sherlock and smiled. /I’m going to drop my shields. All of them. Are you ready? /  
Sherlock nodded and closed his eyes, mental fingers skimming the surface of John’s shields. /Let me in, John. /  
John took a deep breath and dropped his shields as he released it. Sherlock reeled back as if struck, almost falling, John’s hands catching him and pulling him closer as the other man tried to process everything, breath coming in short pants. Sherlock dug his fingers into John’s legs and held on tightly.

There were gunshots and voices he didn’t recognize shouting at him, telling him to get down, take cover as something exploded. The air was hot and dry against his skin and his throat burned when he breathed. The enemy was moving in, he could see them coming. He picked up his gun and aimed, tanned hands completely steady as he fired, over and over, hitting his target every time.  
/Sherlock, focus. It’s not you. Those are my memories, not yours. Focus! /  
He knew that voice. That was John. /John? / Golden eyes opened slowly and met hazel.  
/Yes, Sherlock. It’s me. You need to focus. You’re losing yourself in my memories. /  
Sherlock blinked and shook his head to clear it. /Your memories… /  
/Focus, Sherlock! I need you to focus so I can show you want you need to see. / John said, giving Sherlock’s shoulders a small shake to get his attention.  
The memories were moving backwards now, and Sherlock watched as different places flashed past his eyes. Jungle gave way to desert, to forests thick with trees, coming to rest in what Sherlock realized was Japan, though he wasn’t sure where exactly.  
He was sitting in the middle of what seemed to be a cafeteria, hundreds of other people around him. As he watched a man with long red hair walked up to him, saying something he didn’t understand.  
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak German,” he said to him, smiling apologetically.  
The other man smiled and sat down across from him, propping his feet up on the table. “You don’t need to. I just need to be able to understand you,” the redhead told him, green eyes hidden behind gaudy sunglasses. “Do you know what this place is, John?”  
He frowned, not having told this man his name. “No, I don’t. I just got here.”  
The smile on the other man’s face was sharp, no humor in it at all. “Too bad. And you have so much potential.” With that he stood, leaving John to finish his meal in peace.  
The memory flashed, scene changing again, a different part of the school. The German was there again, with an American. The American was sitting at a desk, the redhead leaning over his shoulder as he cleaned his glasses.  
“John Watson. Do you know why they brought you here?” the black-haired man asked, leaning back in his chair.  
John shook his head. “No. They just said I needed to come here for training.”  
“Did they say what kind of training?”  
John shook his head again.  
The American sighed. “The students here have what we call Talents. Talents are special abilities, like his ability to read minds. Or mine to see the future.” He paused. “You are special, John. You have two Talents.”  
John laughed. “I’m nothing special, sir. I’ve got no special abilities.”  
“He’s gone and repressed it, Brad,” the redhead told the other man, voice slightly disgusted.  
The one called Brad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you bring it out, Schuldich?”  
Schuldich’s smile was razor sharp. “Of course.”  
John felt a slight pressure in his head, building slowly until it was a throbbing pain. Memories of his time in different training areas was brought to the forefront, and he felt all the pain and humiliation he had then as his instructors beat him, when the other people being trained had teamed up on him because he was smaller, younger than them.  
“Stop it!” John yelled, clutching his head.  
Remember… John heard the word whispered in his mind and suddenly he did. He screamed, eyes shut tightly, and he heard the other men in the room moving and the pain was gone.  
When he opened his eyes, he saw that the desk Brad had been sitting behind was on fire. He looked down at his hands and there were sparks running over them, even though it didn’t hurt. “What did you do to me?” he whispered.  
“We brought your powers online. You had suppressed them at some point,” Schuldich told him.  
“Now we are going to teach you how to use them, how to control them.” Brad was straightening his suit and John noticed that the arm of one sleeve was charred. “And I am going to teach you how to shield.”


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock’s eyes opened with a gasp as he fell backward, propped up on his hands. His ears were ringing and he felt slightly dizzy, but other than that he was fine. He looked up at John and noticed he was holding his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “John?”  
“Fine. I’m fine. Just not used to letting people that far in,” he replied, voice breathless. He sat back in the chair and sighed. “Now you know where I learned to shield like that. And you know one of the many things a telepath can do.”  
“What did he do, exactly? I only know what happened from your perspective,” Sherlock said, shaking his head.  
“He activated my talents. Well, reactivated them, I guess,” John paused, trying to think of how to word it. “When someone has a talent, they are born with it. Most people just ignore it and it ‘goes away’, other suppress it, like I did. It’s like I went in and built a wall around them. An extremely strong telepath can go in and tear those walls down, bring the powers to the surface.”  
“Who was the other man, the American? I’ve seen him before,” Geoff said, rubbing his temples to ease his headache.  
John looked at him quickly. “You’ve seen him? You’re sure it was him?”  
Geoff looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, it was him.”  
“When and where did you see him?”  
Lestrade frowned. “Not sure where, but I saw him a few years ago at a pub. I thought it was odd, him being there, seeing as he didn’t get anything to drink.” He paused. “Now that I think about it, I’ve seen the redhead too. He had a kid with him, little Asian boy, couldn’t have been more than sixteen.”  
John was frowning again, and he looked over at Sherlock. “Sherlock, I need you to do something for me. Put the link back up.”  
Sherlock did, sifting through Geoff’s memories. /That’s them. /  
/Yes. Brad Crawford and Schuldich. This could be very bad, Geoff. / John said, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. /Sherlock? /  
Sherlock’s eyes focused on him. /Yes? /  
/Do you remember what happened when he brought my powers online? /  
Sherlock nodded, not really sure where John was going with this.  
/Can you do that to him? /  
/Whoa, wait a minute! / Geoff said, waving his hands in front of himself. /Do that to me? Why? /  
/If you saw them, those particular men, it was because they were looking for you. When I left that place, those men made up half of a team of people that went out and picked up latent talents. The Asian kid you saw? That was their telekinetic, Nagi Naoe. The most powerful telekinetic on record. They try to find latents before they hit adulthood, but sometimes they slip through the cracks. /  
/What does that have to do with me? / Geoff asked suspiciously.  
/You have a latent talent. / Mycroft said, looking over at the other man, gaze unreadable.  
John nodded. /Yes. And I want Sherlock to see if he can bring it online. /  
/Are you sure that would be a good idea? You have no idea what his talent is. /  
John looked over at Geoff. /Sherlock, I going to do something and I need you to let me, okay? / he said and held out a hand to his lover.  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but nodded and took the hand. /Okay. /  
John closed his eyes and pushed at Sherlock’s telepathy, focusing it, narrowing it down to a point. He aimed that point at Lestrade, searching. There… John’s voice was a whisper, and he pushed again, Sherlock’s telepathy spreading into points, finger-like as they dug deeper.  
Geoff made a sound of pain and grabbed his head, fisting his fingers in his hair. /Stop…please, stop, John… /  
Mycroft was out of his chair and over too him before he realized what he was doing. /Hang on, Geoff. He’s almost done. / he rested his hands on the gray-haired man’s shoulders as he started trembling.  
John and Sherlock both made sound, faces tight with pain. /Push, Sherlock. There, at that wall. Push. /  
Sherlock did, blood starting to drip from his nose as he pushed harder, the wall cracking with the force of it. Geoff screamed and it was like a dam breaking, power flooding through him, everything in the room started to vibrate as his talent was activated.  
As suddenly as it started, everything stopped, Sherlock pulling away, falling to his back on the floor. Geoff was shivering in his chair, even though he had passed out, Mycroft holding him, keeping him from falling over.  
John fell forward, out of his chair, landing on his hands and knees as he gasped for breath. “Jesus…” He started laughing. “I remembered that it hurt, but how could I forget that rush of power? And a telekinetic… I figured as much from his memories.”  
“I told you he was an adrenaline junkie, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, picking up the unconscious Inspector as he stood, the other man turning into him in his sleep.  
This started John laughing again, and this time Sherlock joined him. “Yes. Yes, you did.”


End file.
